


something in the way you move makes me feel like i can’t live without you

by justaboat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1227148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/pseuds/justaboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. harry and louis are figure skating partners in the sochi 2014 winter olympics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> betsy for reading through and beta-ing and listening to me whine constantly. i love you.
> 
> hannah and amber for reading and encouraging. couldn't have done it without you.
> 
> two fics in two weeks? i don't know. apparently i more bored than i thought. basically this fic is based off of my two favourite skaters, scott moir and tessa virtue. mostly because of [this](http://taylortownsend.tumblr.com/post/77332284934) post and [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ixEbXhpC7Q) video. so i thought hey, why not. 
> 
> if you read it thank you. you're wonderful.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

The rink is empty apart from Harry, Louis, and Ben on their practice time. It’s a little after six in the morning and Harry’s tired, so fucking tired with his hands braced against his thighs as he tries to fucking breathe. 

He isn’t focused. He isn’t prepared. He isn’t anything that he needs to be right now, which means that he’s not ready for this. Ready for what him and Louis have been working towards their entire skating career: the Olympics. Everything that they’ve fucking wanted since they were nine and eleven years old, when they first skated out onto the ice one cold Saturday morning.

He’s gonna fuck it up.

“I’m fine,” Harry breathes, ragged. “I just lost focus for a second, I’m — _fine_.”

Louis is staring at him, jaw set and hands on his hips. He’s mad, Harry can tell that easily by the silence he gets in response. “You’re not fine,” Louis says finally, his tone a lot less harsh than Harry had been anticipating. 

“Try it again,” Ben instructs gently from the sidelines, holding out a water bottle as Harry skates toward him. 

He takes a sip, putting the cap back on and setting it onto the edge of the rink. He just needs to breathe, and focus. That’s all he’s got to do. The adrenaline and fear is already starting to get to him, making his finger shake as he folds his hands together, counting in his head.

Louis is waiting for him in the middle of the rink, watching Harry’s every move as he approaches. They take first position, heads bowed together and breathing heavily. There’s a bit of sweat on Louis’ forehead, sticking to his fringe as he takes Harry’s hands into his own. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Louis whispers, because Ben can’t hear him anymore.

Harry swallows. “Yeah,” he reassures him, squeezing Louis’ hand once before the music begins again.

And they’re off. It’s always been easy, moving in sync with Louis; that’s never been an issue. Harry briefly looks down, watches the way Louis’ feet are moving in the steps they’ve gone over hundreds, maybe even thousands of times and he tries to stay on that, stay in that moment. He’s going to be fine, he’s going to be fucking fine. He has to be.

Louis turns to him, the look in his eyes steady and trusting and Harry prays and hopes to whatever higher power is listening that he doesn’t fuck this up again. So he puts his hands on Louis’ waist, firm and steady as Louis leans forward — pushing his feet up off the ice and resting his left foot on Harry’s thigh, just like they rehearsed. Harry takes in a deep breath, bracing himself as he grips Louis’ hand tightly, steadying him. And he’s fine, they’re fine — until something snaps inside him, something loses its focus — and before he knows what’s happening, Louis is falling and Harry isn’t there to catch him. 

The music stops soon after, Harry’s head spinning as he falls down onto the ice, bracing himself with his hands to stop the fall best he can. His first thought, though, is Louis, and as soon as he can straighten himself out, that’s the first place he goes. Louis is on his knees, hunched over as Harry skates toward him.

“Louis, Louis —” Harry starts, putting a hand on his shoulder. When Louis finally looks up at him Harry sees blood, just a bit, painting his jawline. “Fuck, fuck I’m so sorry, are you alright —”

“What is up with you today?” Louis snaps, now clearly irritated. “You were doing fine yesterday, I don’t understand why the fuck you can’t get it today?”

Harry has an idea, but he doesn’t say it. Instead he briefly brings the back of his hand to Louis’ cheek, dragging down to the cut across his skin. “I don’t know,” Harry lies quickly, “I’m sorry I just — I’ll be fine for next week, I promise.”

Louis is looking at him again, gaze not wavering, as if he’s trying to figure out if Harry’s being honest or not. He doesn’t say anything, but he also doesn’t look convinced that Harry’s telling the truth, either.

Ben calls them over, looking quickly at Louis’ face as Harry takes the time to skate around the rink. He goes through the steps, the lifts, the spins, all of it in his head. They’ve been doing this fucking routine for almost six fucking months, he needs to fucking get this right. Ben and Louis are talking in hushed voices but Harry doesn’t take to listening, doesn’t want to focus on their words. He wants to fucking focus on this fucking routine.

_“Louis, you need to trust me.”_

_“You’re going to lift me above your head,” Louis argues, eyes wide with panic and fear._

_Harry watches him, shaking his head. “That’s the point, isn’t it? You’re smaller, I’m bigger. So I’ve got to lift you,” he explains, something like Ben had told him earlier before they’d gone out onto the ice._

_Louis licks his lips, his nose a little red from the cold of the rink. It’s a bit strange then, maybe, that they’re doing this. But then again Harry is sure that Ben told him they could do this, and it’s only one lift. They’ve been skating together for almost two months now, they’re practically best friends. Or, that’s what Harry thinks, anyway._

_“Not my head,” Harry adds when Louis doesn’t say anything else. “Just onto my shoulder, yeah? It’s safe.”_

_Louis blinks, skating a little toward him. “You won’t drop me?”_

_Harry nods. “I won’t drop you,” he says firmly._

_“Okay then,” Louis says, extending his pinky finger toward him. “Pinky swear. If you break that then I’ll never let you lift me again.”_

_Harry takes his pinky, wrapping his own around it. “Pinky promise.”_

Maybe Louis is thinking about that moment too, when Harry glances back toward him now, twenty two years old and having only broken that promise once up until this point. Now he’s broken it three times.

“Harry,” Ben’s voice comes. “Can I see you for a second?”

Harry nods, skating back toward where Ben is perched over the edge of the rink. Louis brushes past him, his expression unreadable as Harry turns to Ben. “I fucked up, okay? I get that —” Harry starts but he’s cut off.

“Whatever it is that’s throwing you off, you need to figure it out. Louis is depending on you out there, you can’t just go dropping him like that, you understand? I can’t believe I have to tell you this, after all these years —”

“I know, okay? I fucking _know_ ,” Harry hisses, taking another look at Louis. There’s a bandage underneath his chin, small, hardly noticeable. But it’s still there, and it’s still Harry’s fault it’s there. “I’ll get it Friday at practice I just need a day, I think.”

Ben doesn’t look impressed, but he nods. “Fine. But if you’re pulling this kind of stuff on Friday, then we’re going to need to have a more serious talk.”

“Yeah,” Harry replies, trying to keep his voice firm. “We can, um — we can try the first bit again, if you want.”

“Not up to me,” Ben says simply.

Harry sighs, seeing Louis out of the corner of his eye. He pushes off without another word, catching up to Louis about halfway around the rink. They don’t say anything for a few minutes, Harry simply gliding beside him, hands folded behind his back.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, because he doesn’t know how else to. “I’m — usually nothing outside of the ice affects me on it.”

Louis has his lips pressed into a thin line. “So why is it now?” he asks, not looking at Harry. His eyes are ahead, focused. Disciplined. 

“I don’t know,” Harry says, truthfully. “I’ll be fine by Friday, I promise.”

Louis gives him a look, finally turning his head just a bit. He’s quiet for a few more moments, as if considering. Harry continues to follow beside him, allowing the silence to settle between them.

“Alright. I trust you.”

Harry waits for a “but,” or an, “if you fuck up one more time —” but it never comes. “Do you wanna go through the beginning again?” he offers.

Louis stops in the middle of the rink, shaking his head. He looks up at Harry, who’s now in front of him, putting their foreheads together as best as Louis can manage with the height difference between them. Harry closes his eyes a moment, taking in a deep breath until he feels the cool pads of Louis’ fingers against his cheeks. After a moment he pinches the skin there, making Harry laugh quietly in response before opening his eyes, slowly.

“What’s wrong with you, Styles?” Louis whispers, smiling a little. “Usually there’s nothing a little ice skating can’t fix with you.”

Harry bites on his lower lip, shrugging. “I’ll fix it,” he says quietly.

“Pinky promise?” Louis asks quietly, the smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Harry lets himself smile again for just a moment. “Pinky promise,” he repeats finally.

Louis looks like he wants to ask something else, but he refrains. Instead he nods once, giving Harry’s hands one last squeeze before skating off toward the exit of the rink. “See you at dinner?” he asks before heading to the dressing rooms.

“Yeah,” Harry answers slowly, “sure.”

And then they’re gone, and it’s just Harry. He glances out across the rink, head pounding as he winces slightly. Ben’s voice is repeating through his head in that same firm, slightly angry tone as he closes his eyes for a moment. He hadn’t said it, hadn’t told Ben but it started the night before. Had been the night before, because he’s an idiot, really, is what it comes down to.

Louis had gone home to his apartment, leaving Harry sitting in his own room with nothing but his phone in his lap and the television playing something he couldn’t remember the name of. His head was pounding from practice, not enough food and too much time on the ice left him worn out and exhausted.

He couldn’t sleep. Harry shifted in his bed, staring at the alarm clock on the small bedside table beside it. Almost nine thirty. He should have been asleep by now. Any other night and he would’ve no doubt been asleep by now, but tonight something just wasn’t sitting right with him. After about an hour more of restlessly tossing and turning in his bed Harry sat up, unplugging his phone from the charger and opened one of his dresser drawers, looking for some clothes.

For a moment he glanced at his phone, weighing his options. He could stay here, flip through channels and let whatever was bothering him settle so he doesn’t have to think about it anymore. Or he could go out, and let it be forgotten completely from his mind after a few beers and maybe flirting with a person or two. Something easy; brainless fun that he wouldn’t regret in the morning.

He decided on the second option, decidedly rather going to the bar just a few blocks over from his apartment. Harry walked, putting his phone into his pocket until he spotted it, the sign bright as he pushed through the doors.

It wasn’t full, just a handful of people littered throughout the bar, music playing quietly. There had been the smell of smoke as he pulled up a stool, arms pressed on top of the bar.

“Can I get a rum and coke?” Harry asked, the bartender stopping in front of him. “And actually, more rum than coke, please.”

They nodded, holding up a finger for him to wait before taking the order of the next person before starting in on his drink. When it was handed to him Harry took a sip, nearly wincing because _fuck_ , it had been hard to tell if there’s any coke in there. But it calmed him, so he continued drinking through the small straw poking out of it.

A hockey game had been going on the televisions; Harry mostly watched it without really watching it, something to keep his eyes busy and his brain not thinking. 

“You a big fan?”

Harry turned, finding someone now pulled up a stool beside him. “Not really, no. I’m um, I only know a bit about hockey,” he said with a shrug. Well, that’s partly true. He knows the skating aspect he just doesn’t really understand the rest of it, really.

The man nodded, smiling a little; amused. “You should root for the Hawks,” he said, arms crossed and beer in front of him.

“Alright,” Harry agreed, taking another long, extended sip of his drink. “I’ll go with the Hawks, then.”

He smiled at Harry again and that made something inside of Harry get excited, even though it was nothing. It’s never really anything, usually. The part where he sleeps with people to occupy himself, to get his mind off of skating and all of the pressures that await him before he gets onto the ice. 

Not too mention Ben would kill him right if he knew where Harry was, and what he was drinking.

“I’m Jesse,” he introduced, smiling politely. 

“Harry,” he said back, smiling in response.

“So, Harry. It’s Monday night and you’re here, alone. What’s your story?” Jesse asked, eyes no longer on the television.

“Couldn’t sleep, thought a bit of alcohol might cure that,” Harry replied. “Shouldn’t you be paying more attention to your game? This is important stuff, apparently.”

Jesse laughed, a little. “I know how it ends,” he said simply.

Harry cleared his throat, finished his drink as he ordered another one. He could see Jesse’s eyebrows raised toward him, with what looked to be more of an impressed look than anything, Harry observed. “Well don’t spoil it for me, I’m a big fan of the Hawks myself.”

“Are you? I would’ve taken you to be more of Bruins fan,” Jesse said.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Harry said, mock offended.

There’d been a pause. Then Jesse asked, “don’t I know you from something? You look familiar.”

Harry shook his head, smiling easily. “I get that a lot, actually,” he said.

Jesse, thankfully, dropped the subject and the game continued. For the most part Jesse had been easy to chat with, and Harry decided that it was nice, having him there. Easy to talk to and easy to listen to, all good qualities. He finished off another rum and coke, asking for one more. Then he’d cut himself off, knowing full well what time practice would be the next day.

“Practice for what?” Jesse asked.

Harry shrugged. “Nothing, it’s not important.” Except it’s really fucking important, it’s his entire fucking life, but. He didn’t say that.

Jesse nodded, not asking any further questions, which Harry was thankful for. Instead they kept talking about hockey, which was mostly Harry commenting on irrelevant things and Jesse laughing at his terrible jokes.

His head felt lighter then; less heavy, more loose. And so when Jesse had put a hand on his thigh, he didn’t shy away. He also didn’t shy away when Jesse leaned in close, breath warm on Harry’s ear when he asked, “what do you say we take this to my place?”

And Harry should’ve said no. But instead he found himself saying yes, placed some money for his bill on the bar before he followed Jesse out. Harry put on his coat and tried not to stumble out the door and crack his head open on the way to the cab. He got out unscathed, situated in the back seat.

Harry was, in a word, drunk. He could tell by the way the world is spinning, how he couldn’t seem to focus on anything for more than a few seconds, and also because he missed Louis. It always gets like this when he’s had too much. He just misses Louis. For some ridiculous reason that he’s never been able to grasp, his mind just goes back to Louis. His first few thoughts are from practice today, when Louis had accidentally slipped at one part in the song and fallen on the ice he’d laughed, loudly.

The sound was ringing in Harry’s head as the cab stopped, both of them getting out and Harry told himself he can’t think about Louis, not right now. So, he kissed Jesse.

He was eager to respond, hand warm on Harry’s hip as he tried to unlock the door to his apartment. It was getting colder, the sky dark as they stepped inside and Harry needed so badly to be distracted — he needed to _think about something else_ so he kissed Jesse again, lips pressed along his neck as they both struggled to remove their coats.

“So you probably don’t want to finish watching the game then?” Jesse asked, grinning.

Harry shook his head, biting down on his lower lip and Jesse groaned in response. “Right, sure, yeah, that works too —” he trailed off, leading Harry to his bedroom.

Mostly it had been a messy handjob and a blowjob, nothing out of the ordinary. But nothing was distracting him enough, nothing was filling his head because Louis was still there. He lingered, and Harry fucking hated it. So he got a condom from his wallet, and he pushed into Jesse because it’s was the only thing he could think of to get his mind off of Louis.

And it worked, for a bit. Harry started to breathe heavily, his necklace dangled from his neck and this was good, this was what he needed, he thought to himself. Underneath him Jesse made sounds of approval, writhing beneath Harry and it had been better than good, Harry thought.

But it had been when he came that something happened out of the ordinary. Harry pulled out, moaning out, “Louis,” as he slumped against the wall. It took a few minutes for it to register, the fact that he’d just come and said Louis’ name while he had. And when he did realize Jesse is looking at him, his confused expression still readable in the dim lighting of his room.

“Louis?” Jesse asked.

Harry cursed under his breath. Quickly he shook his head. “It’s um — fuck, that’s nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing.”

“I need to go —” Harry started, gathered up his things best he could in the fucking dark. His jeans, his shirt, his coat outside in the hallway, his wallet and his fucking phone. “I’ll call a cab, it’s fine.”

The cab came and Harry got into the backseat, finally registering the time. Half past two in the morning. He groaned and informed the driver in some slurred, fucked up drunken tone the address of his apartment as they drove off into the night. Harry took out his phone, considering.

In less than four hours he needed to be awake for practice, which meant he was completely and utterly fucked. There’d been an unread text on his phone.

_can’t sleeeeeeeeeep i’m watching keeping up the kardashians_

Louis. He’d sent it about two hours ago, when he’d still been at the bar.

He shouldn’t have done anything with that, but he did. Tapped out a _H op e youre sleep ign sweeeeeeeeet dre a ms_ and sent it without a second thought, because he is and always will be a fucking idiot, apparently.

The cab took him to the front door and Harry paid him before he stumbled back inside, up to his room and his bed as he practically collapsed onto it. This isn’t like him, Harry had thought with a fair bit of remorse as he pulled the sheets around his cold body. In all his years of skating, he’d never done anything like this. Especially not before a practice.

It had been reckless, and it wasn’t smart. God, Harry thought as he frowned into his pillow, he was starting to sound like Ben. How terrible, Harry thought as he closed his eyes. In his attempt at sleep he didn’t think about Louis as he drifted off, and he didn’t think about anything to do with skating or practice until his alarm rudely woke him up three and a half hours later. 

So yeah, he was probably off because of the night before. But he doesn’t tell Louis or Ben, instead keeps it to himself as he finally leaves the rink, not bothering with the showers before he goes.

— 

Things are quiet at dinner later that evening, Harry sitting in mostly silence across from Louis at their usual restaurant near the rink. Everything is riddled with stress and pressure, the conversations around them tense, feeling on edge. Or maybe it’s just Harry. There’s always the fine of line of getting caught up in it all, or instead using that stress to motivate you, and Harry’s not quite sure he’s mastered that line yet. 

“Did you hear Zayn Malik’s recovered from his back injury? Apparently he’s trying going this year,” Louis comments after a while of silence.

Harry blinks, picking at his dinner. “Who?” he asks.

Louis rolls his eyes, smiling a little. He nudges Harry’s foot from underneath the table, lightly. “You know, Zayn Malik, one of the youngest male skaters with a gold medal in the last Olympic title he won,” Louis says.

“Right, yeah, the one with the jawline you liked?” Harry asks, vaguely remembering the name now.

“So you do listen when I talk?” Louis teases.

“Only sometimes,” Harry mutters in response, ignoring the look Louis gives him.

Louis doesn’t ask if he’s feeling better, and Harry doesn’t bring it up. Instead they keep eating, and the silence settles between them. Harry takes another drink of his water, the free hand that isn’t holding his fork in a fist against his thigh, fingers pressed tight against his palm with tension he doesn’t know how to alleviate. 

“So um,” Louis starts. Harry’s shoulders tense. “Your text the other night? It was. Interesting.”

Harry doesn’t look up from his plate, instead starts to align his peas in a straight line. It’s curving a little to the left as he looks at them, frowning. “I was um — half asleep when I wrote it,” he lies, shrugging. “Sorry if it woke you.”

Louis nods, setting down his own fork. “You’re usually more coherent when you’re tired,” he says slowly.

It’s here Harry looks up toward him, finally staring at Louis from across the table. There’s only a bit of space between them but it feels larger, somehow. Harry shifts, uncomfortable. “I was just — out.” Harry says flatly.

Louis sighs, running a hand along his face. He’s tired, Harry can tell by the way his voice is lower than usual and the way his eyes are a little puffy around the edges. He’s stressed. Harry understands. “You were drunk, by the sounds of it,” Louis says, though it sounds like an accusation. 

Harry runs his tongue along his lower lip, taking in a deep breath. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“So that means you can just go out and get plastered when you have practice the next morning at six am?” Louis snaps.

“I don’t need a lecture, Louis.”

“I think you do, actually,” Louis says firmly. “We worked too hard for us to come here and have you fuck it up.”

“I’m _not_ gonna fuck it up,” Harry says, defensive.

Louis glances down toward his hands, which are folded in front of him. They’re small, a few of his tattoo’s poking out from underneath his sleeve. Harry thinks his skin might be really warm, or really cold, no middle ground. He wants to touch him. He doesn’t. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

Harry swallows. He could say it’s because he spent most of the night thinking about Louis, and that when he was with someone else when he said Louis’ name as he came — but that would probably do more harm than good. In fact, it would probably ruin everything.

“Stressed, I don’t know — fuck,” Harry lies, running a hand through his hair. Well, that’s partly true, he supposes. He is stressed. Because who the fuck wouldn’t be stressed in their position.

“Right, well. Whenever you wanna talk about it let me know.” 

Louis’ jaw is tight again, how it always gets when he’s angry or frustrated. Or both. He slowly starts to stand, leaving his money on the table before he goes. He doesn’t say anything else; he doesn’t have to.

—

Friday comes slowly, and somehow fast all at once.

His alarm goes off at five thirty in the morning, having gone to bed a little after ten as he quiets the alarm from his bedside table. First thing he does is brush his teeth, then drink some water, getting on some track pants and a sweater and putting his skating clothes into his bag. And somewhere between his protein bar and on the way to the ice rink it hits him. This is their last practice before they fly out, for the fucking Olympics.

Harry tries not to freak out, finds ways to occupy himself for most of the way there as he takes out his phone. Gemma texted him yesterday about something or other, going through his Instagram. 

He’s the first one there, no sign of Louis or Ben when he goes into the change rooms. It’s silent, the cold air waking him up a bit as he changes into his practice clothes. And he’s fucking nervous, is the thing.

“Harry?”

He turns, finding Louis a few feet away, bag over his shoulder and that same sleepy look on his face. Harry stares at him for a moment, blinking slowly as he waits. “I’m —” Louis starts, shaking his head. “Really fucking nervous. Are you nervous?”

Harry nods, letting out a small breath. He takes a step toward Louis, extending his arms a little in front of him. “C’mon,” and that’s all he needs to say.

They’ve done championships, they’ve done nationals, they’ve done it all — except this; this one thing they’ve both wanted since they can remember first putting on their skates. And it’s almost here, Harry thinks as he feels Louis step into his arms. Neither of them move for a while, Harry running a gentle, constant hand along Louis’ back.

Finally, they step apart, footsteps echoing against the concrete floor as they continue to get ready in silence. Ben’s probably already waiting for them, Harry’s skates over his shoulder as they walk out onto the rink.

“Feeling better?” Ben asks, looking straight at Harry.

Harry nods, going to sit on one end of the bench to put on his skates. Louis is beside him, not saying anything, though he nudges Harry’s knee lightly with his own. 

“Fine, yeah,” Harry says, not saying anything else as he slowly stands, swinging his arms beside himself.

Their warm up goes as it usually does, nothing too out of the ordinary. Harry feels a little more relaxed than he did the other day, which he tells himself counts for something. Louis is quiet, concentrated; it’s the expression Harry remembers when they got the news, when Ben had told them — eyes bright with excitement, and that’s when they’d known. They’d gotten in.

 _America’s own Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson set to skate at the Olympics this upcoming winter at Sochi 2014_ , he remembers reading the headline the next morning after his mom had called him while he’d been eating breakfast after his morning run. It all feels a little surreal, still does now, actually — like it’s not happening. As if it’s some long dream that Harry hasn’t woken up from, somehow. 

Louis’ fingers are cold as they connect with Harry’s, both of them moving as Harry takes in a deep, steadying breath. When warm ups are finished they skate back toward Ben, Harry taking a drink of his water bottle.

“Alright, so.” Ben starts, tone serious. So serious, in fact, that it takes a fair bit of effort for Harry not to laugh at him. “As you both know, this is your last practice before you fly out for the Olympics.”

Harry feels a rush of nerves go through him, sees Louis shiver from beside him. “And I know it’s been — a rough few weeks,” Ben continues, looking between them. “But I want you two to go out there and tell yourselves that you’re gonna be fine, alright? You’re gonna fucking kill it.”

Harry nods, giving Louis a sidelong glance to see he’s nodding, too. So that’s it then. They’re really going to do this. They’re really gonna do this. 

With a dismissive pat on the back from Ben he and Louis push off onto the ice, into the middle of the rink. Harry closes his eyes for a moment, tries to pull himself together best he can and when he opens his eyes, Louis is staring at him. His eyes look more blue on the ice, Harry had realized the other day. Brighter. Easier to focus on instead of the big, white space they’re about to skate across.

He counts down in his head — mouthing the numbers to Louis as he grips Louis’ hands gently. _Five, four, three, two, one_ — 

And they’re off.

It’s cold, keeping his eyes wide and for a moment Harry worries that he’s going to get lost in all this, that he’s going to lose focus but then Louis is there, and he’s steady, with a gentle hand on Harry’s waist. And that grounds him again.

They’ve been skating together since Harry was nine, Louis eleven, and that’s something that Harry knows adds to their — connection, or whatever they call it. That there’s something about growing up with someone, knowing almost every detail about them that makes everything seem less scary, not quite as big.

_“Have you ever kissed anyone?”_

_They’re at a birthday for Kaylee Richards. It’s been a week since Harry’s turned thirteen, Louis older at fifteen, same as Kaylee. Louis looks up at Harry, nodding. “Yeah, I have.”_

_Harry’s brows furrow. “Who?”_

_Louis swirls his cup, holding it up to his mouth as he takes a sip. “Um, Greg? In my Algebra class? It was a while ago, I dunno.”_

_For some reason that sits weird in Harry, uncomfortably. “You kissed Greg?”_

_“He kissed me,” Louis corrects. “It was nice, I guess. He’s nice.”_

_Harry nods, staring into his own cup. “Have you?” Louis asks._

_“No um, not yet,” Harry replies sheepishly._

_Louis smiles at him, though Harry has no idea why Louis would smile at something like this. “Do you wanna kiss someone?”_

_Harry glances around to the people at the party, most of them classmates or people they skate with. It seems the only people him and Louis can become close to are people who live the kind of lives they do. Hectic, busy, and tiring. And mostly out on a skating rink._

_“I guess,” Harry says finally._

_There’s a pause, the music loud and no one really paying any attention to them, too wrapped up in their own conversations. Harry feels suddenly warm all over, his cheeks especially as he feels Louis move a little closer toward him. Their knees are touching, he notices as he stares at the contact for a moment._

_“You can kiss me, if you’d like,” Louis offers, voice quieter now._

_Harry blinks, turning toward him. “What?” he asks, his cheeks now feeling as though they’re on fucking fire. “I mean — wouldn’t that like, make everything weird?”_

_Louis shrugs. “If you make it weird then yeah, it’ll be weird. But you don’t have to make it weird.”_

_Harry suddenly isn’t sure what to do with the cup in his hands as he glances down to Louis’ lips. He’s always liked Louis’ lips, he realizes in that moment, though he’s not sure why it’s taken him so long to realize that fact._

_“Alright then, yeah, sure. You can kiss me.”_

_And so he does. Louis leans forward, pressing his lips against Harry’s and it’s warm, and he likes it. It’s gentle and slow, so slow as he tries to remember the movements Louis does — like he’s practiced, which makes a sting of jealousy go through Harry at the thought. But then Louis is pulling away, far too soon and Harry clears his throat, somewhat awkwardly._

_“I um. Thank you.”_

_Louis laughs, eyes crinkled as he smiles at Harry warmly. “You’re welcome.”_

_“So, you’re my first kiss then,” Harry says._

_“I reckon so,” Louis agrees, and he’s still smiling._

The music is loud, giving Harry something else to focus on as he spins with Louis, staying in sync as they continue through with a lift — Louis easily going up over Harry’s head, Harry breathing out through his nose, trying to stay as steady as he can.

Their routine is coming to an end, but for some reason skating with Louis makes that memory flash through Harry’s mind. Remembering how warm Louis’ lips had been, wondering if they’d still be that warm and that soft now, here, on the rink. But Harry doesn’t let himself think too much on it, instead holds onto the memory, lets himself focus on it.

He’s allowed to be attracted to Louis — they’re partners, for God’s sake. And Louis isn’t bad looking. He’s rather the opposite, if Harry’s being honest. So he channels the attraction, puts it instead into his fingers when he grips at Louis’ thighs, or how he wraps a firm arm around Louis’ calves when he’s wrapped around Harry’s neck in a complicated lift. Because then, Harry can touch him and only then can Harry know — in those few moments — what it would be like if Louis was, maybe, his.

The music comes to an end, both of them breathing heavily as they go to their final positions. It’s not until they hear Ben clapping do they break the final position, slowly standing on their skates as Harry turns, glancing at Louis.

And he’s beaming, there, on the ice. He’s grinning and he’s laughing and before Harry can react Louis is hugging him — arms tight around his neck and holding Harry close to his chest.

“We did it, H. We fucking did it,” Louis breathes, voice shaking just a little as Harry wraps his arms around Louis' waist. 

Harry’s laughing now too, Louis’ head buried somewhere in his neck as he presses a kiss to the top of Louis’ head, just on his hair. 

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out, mostly in disbelief. “We did.”

—

There’s no set packing list for when going to the Olympics. Which is why Harry’s sitting in his room, three suitcases open in front of him, all empty and a hopeless feeling in the pit of his stomach. He takes out his phone.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“We’re not going to make it to the Olympics.”

There’s a pause, the sound of girls screeching in the background and a muffled, “ _oh my God, Daisy will you settle down and give your sister her doll back. No, I’m very serious young lady and — thank you. Now you can finish your hot chocolate,_ ” comes Louis’ stern voice before, “ _I’m sorry I must’ve misheard you saying we aren’t going to make it to the Olympics? That’s not a funny joke, Harry._ ”

“We can’t go. I don’t know what to pack.”

“ _Harry, are you serious — Lottie, no, put that away what are you even thinking —_ ” Harry laughs quietly, hearing more movement on the other line as he shifts where he’s sitting on his bed. “ _Did you need me to email you a packing list? Because here it is: your skating costume, your skates, and a toothbrush. All in that order of importance._ ”

“I think toothbrush should be at the top of that list. Dental hygiene is very important,” Harry insists, grinning to himself proudly.

“ _I’m sure you can buy a toothbrush in Russia if you forget yours,_ ” Louis says sarcastically. There’s another yell and Louis saying something along the lines of “ _are you fucking kidding me —_ ” and then a very offended, “ _Louis! Mom says that’s bad language!_ ”

Harry’s still laughing by the time Louis is talking again, sounding more and more exasperated by the second. “ _You know, the Olympics are going to be a breeze compared to living here,_ ” he says, mostly in defeat.

“Sounds like you’re doing a stand up job, actually,” Harry says encouragingly, hearing Louis groan in response.

“ _Don’t be a dick. I can practically see your stupid satisfied grin from here,_ ” Louis snaps, but Harry can hear the smile on his lips when he does. “ _Are you gonna be alright packing? Or should I send Ben over to help you? Or maybe Lottie, or Daisy — take them off my hands for a few hours. I’m sure they’d love to help you pack your belongings away._ ”

“I think I’ll be alright,” Harry replies slowly.

Louis is quiet for a moment. “ _Are you okay?_ ” he asks, voice gentle now.

Harry stares down at his lap. All their interviews are done, and it’s their last night homes with nothing to do but pack and be at the airport in time for their eight am flight. “Yeah, fine. Just tired,” Harry says.

“ _I know,_ ” he says. “ _I should go though — gotta get dinner ready. Are you going to be alright?_ ”

“I’ll be fine, go make dinner. Don’t burn anything down,” Harry warns.

“ _I make no promises with this lot,_ ” Louis says, somewhat woefully. “ _If you need anything else, just call okay? I’ll be around._ ”

“I will. Bye, Lou,” Harry says.

“ _Bye, Haz. Get packing!_ ” Louis says before hanging up.

And it’s just Harry in his old room at his mom’s house, sitting on his bed and staring at the still empty suitcases. Downstairs Gemma and his mom are watching television before his dad gets home, their laughter loud from below his room.

But instead of focusing on that Harry stands, opening his drawers and starting to make small piles of clothing. His skates and costume are already ready to go, Ben giving them both specific instruction, the same as it is whenever they go anywhere. So all he needs to worry about is practice clothes and other clothes, which is mostly track pants and sweaters.

He debates bringing other things, already having a suit and a few other items of formal wear as he stares at the now somewhat full suitcases. 

Across the room there’s a small shelf, the one part of his room he doesn’t look at all that often. Harry slowly stands, walking toward it as he picks up a small frame near the back of the top shelf. It’s the first competition he and Louis ever won together, a small event in their town, nothing really all that special. 

Louis had been, Harry remembers, practically jumping out of his skates as he’d tugged on Harry’s hand. He remembers his mom crying from the stands, hand in hand with Louis’ mom, Jay, beside her; and Harry thinks that while she’s looked proud ever since they’ve won that competition — she’d never looked quite as proud as she did that day. 

There’s a number of other papers like that, a few small trophies and medals hanging from his wall. It’s a bit weird looking at them without Louis, because they’re not entirely his. They’re only half his, really, when he thinks about it. Every other big certificate or medal is downstairs, hanging in the hallways for his mom to show off whenever she has guests or company over. It’s a bit embarrassing to Harry, knowing how often she talks about him — but he lets her have it, because she’s just proud, that’s all.

His eyes trail down a little further until something catches his eyes. Harry pauses, pulling on the piece of paper as he holds it in his hands. It’s in crayon, the words in bright orange and red where they read _THANK YOU FOR BEING MY PARTNER, HARRY_ in Louis’ hardly legible writing across it. Underneath it there’s what appears to be a picture of him and Louis, hand in hand, skates prominent on their feet as he smiles to himself, shaking his head.

Louis gave it to him a little while after their first win and along with it came a video from his mom, claiming she’d filmed it especially for Harry to watch. So later on that night he’d sat with mom Anne, the screen lighting up with Louis at the table, eyes looking down at the paper in front of him.

“ _What are you drawing, Lou?_ ” Comes Jay’s voice after about half a minute.

“ _A picture for Harry,_ ” Louis says simply.

“ _Who’s Harry?_ ”

Louis stops colouring for a moment, looking up at the screen with a blank expression on his face. “ _You know who Harry is, mom,_ ” he says, now clearly annoyed when there’s a hand across the lens, motioning toward the camera. Then, Louis stops, eyes widening. “ _He’s my skating partner!_ ”

Jay laughs, off camera. “ _And what did you and Harry do the other day?_ ” she asks, trying to be subtle.

“ _We won our first ever competition,_ ” Louis says, proudly. God, Harry can remember it so well. “ _And I want to thank Harry for it, so I’m making him a card._ ”

Harry’s more than certain his mom still has that tape somewhere, most likely buried with all their interviews and tv appearances over the years. She’s a packrat, though she’ll never own up to it, and Harry loves her for it.

He takes out his phone, taking a picture of the drawing Louis had given him all those years ago — opening Instagram as he chooses a filter, then writes the caption:

 _@Harry_Styles: Hey, @Louist91 I’ll see you in Sochi._ along with a thumbs up emoji before posting it. 

— 

Harry’s crabby. He’s crabby, he’s had hardly any sleep, and he misses his bed desperately. Beside him Louis grunts, arriving at the airport as they wait for their bags.

“Sleep,” Harry mutters somewhere in Louis’ shoulder, getting a mouthful of his sweater as he does. “Need sleep.”

Louis laughs, softly, nodding in response. “Almost there,” he says, patting Harry’s cheek briefly with his hand. “Sleepy Hazza,” he adds, ruffling a bit of Harry’s hair as they start off toward the doors, bags now at hand.

“I feel like I could sleep for a year,” Harry mutters, Louis making a small noise of agreement as they get into a van as he immediately leans his head against the window. 

They start driving, Louis yawning into the back of his hand as he leans his head against Harry’s shoulder, gently. The contact is simple, just a gentle press of Louis’ temple — but it sends a rush through Harry, making his fingers tremble where they’re resting on his thighs as he takes in a deep breath. 

He starts playing their routine in his head, goes through the motions and movements and doesn’t focus on how warm and sleepy Louis is next to him, doesn’t let his mind stay on that. Instead, he tells himself that it’s nothing, because it’s easier that way.

He’s never been to Russia before, never been anywhere really outside of Colorado, really. Everything passes by in a blur, the nerves starting to set in as he feels Louis shift from beside him.

“Stop worrying,” Louis murmurs, hardly coherent as he speaks.

Harry smiles into his hair, smelling like airplane and a bit of his shampoo. “Just thinking, don’t worry,” he assures.

Louis doesn’t open his eyes when he holds up his hand, pinky extended. “Promise?”

Harry wraps his pinky around Louis’ own, firmly. “Promise.”

—

Check in goes smoothly, everything goes smoothly for the most part; Ben leading them through their schedules over the next few weeks. It’s not new to them, they’ve know what it would be like if they made it to the Olympics — it’s just, it feels new, Harry supposes, because it’s actually happening.

“Shit,” Louis hisses, gripping Harry’s arm.

“What?” Harry asks, confused, seeing Louis staring a few feet ahead of them.

They’re at one last check in for the day, apparently, according to Ben, where they all have to give some sort of brief interview to the press. “It’s Zayn Malik,” Louis says, pointing with his index finger.

Harry follows the general direction of Louis’ hand, nearly squinting his eyes until he catches sight of him. “Do you want me to get his autograph for you?” Harry offers, grinning.

“Asshole,” Louis mutters, poking his side in retaliation. Harry squirms in response. “I was just pointing him out, that’s all.”

“Isn't he dating someone? Read about it on the way here I think,” Harry adds. Louis frowns at him.

“Shut up I’m still trying to get over him,” he says. Harry laughs.

They’re up next to be interviewed, Harry taking a sip from a glass of water as he runs a hand through his hair. 

“Nervous?” comes an unfamiliar voice.

Harry looks, finding someone with blonde hair and a wide smile looking at him. He’s holding a carrot in one hand, a glass of water in the other. “M’Niall, Niall Horan,” he introduces, extending a hand. 

“Harry Styles,” he says, shaking Niall’s hand for a moment.

“No fucking way — like the figure skater?” Niall says, his grin somehow widening, if that were at all possible. “With Louis, right? Fuck, you guys are great.”

Harry smiles, cautiously. “Yeah we um, just got here,” Harry says, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, what do you —”

“Snowboarder,” Niall answers easily, hardly offended Harry to ask. “Good luck at your interview then, yeah? I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Harry nods. “Sure, yeah. Nice meeting you Niall.”

Niall grins once more before giving Harry another wave before walking off toward a group of people Harry doesn’t know as he walks over to Louis again. This is the easy part, the interviews, answering the same questions — they never change, not really.

Ben ushers them gently to where the camera is set up, a man with a microphone smiling widely as Louis presses into his side, just a little. “Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson — how are you doing?”

“Good. Just flew in,” Louis answers, “we’re excited to be here.”

“Not even nervous,” Harry adds, jokingly, hearing the man laugh loudly in response.

“Not even a little?” he asks, extending his microphone toward them.

“Not even a little,” Harry confirms, noticing Louis relax a little next to him. 

“So tell me — how are you guys feeling about this? Your first Olympics together? Must be a little insane,” the man — Matt, Harry remembers Ben telling them — asks.

Louis shifts his weight carefully. “You know, this is a dream Harry and I have had for our entire skating career. We’re very honoured to be here, with all of these other recognized athletes, doing what we love to do,” he answers, because Louis has always been the eloquent one of the pair of them. 

Matt nods, seemingly satisfied with this answer. “You guys have some pretty big competition coming up, though. Your biggest rivals are the famed pair of skaters Nicholas Bick and Cindy Cate — you have to be a little anxious about that, right?”

Harry shakes his head, watching Louis scrunch his face in response. “Louis and I are prepared for this competition, but ultimately we’re here to skate to the best of our ability and cheer on everyone else from the sidelines, and maybe even beat our own personal best scores.”

“Very diplomatic answer,” Matt says, now rather serious. “Not what your rivals said, though.”

Louis snorts. “Trying to get a little drama, are you?” he asks. He’s only half joking, Harry can tell by the way Louis presses his hands together, though Matt isn’t aware of this.

Instead, Harry gently nudges Louis’ hip with his own, hardly noticeable — but still a warning as Louis gives him a look. “I’m just trying to make you guys know what you’re up against,” Matt says, laughing again.

Harry laughs, forced, Louis smiling as Matt extends a hand to them. “Well gentlemen, we’ll check in with you guys later but for now, good luck with your runs at the beginning of next week, and we hope to see you up on that podium with a gold medal around your neck!”

“You will, don’t worry,” Harry says, giving a wink before he and Louis step out from in front of the camera.

—

“I fucking hate him.”

Harry looks up where Louis is laying on his bed, staring angrily at the television. “Who?” Harry asks, confused.

“Nicholas Bick,” Louis says, his tone angry. “Should be Nicholas Dick, as far as I’m concerned. Do you know what he said about us?”

Harry blinks, setting his phone down onto his lap. “No. What did he say?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘ _I hope Styles and Tomlinson have some outfits to match the bronze medals this season,_ ’” Louis reads from his phone now, “I’ve only met the guy once, and all I said is that I liked his tie and now he’s just taking a piss on us.”

“You hated his tie,” Harry says, glancing toward Louis.

“I know. I shouldn’t have said anything, he didn’t deserve it,” Louis huffs. “That tie was fucking ugly.”

“Just. Forget about him, yeah? He’s an idiot, you just said it. He just wants a little rivalry, it’s nothing,” Harry says.

Louis groans. “Sure, yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Harry smirks, a little. “That’s the spirit,” he says. Louis flips him off.

Their scheduled practice time isn’t until eight pm, but the jetlag is catching up to Harry — feeling tired already as he leans back onto the bed. It’s half past six, giving them some time to do nothing, really. Louis starts setting up a video call with his mom as Harry excuses himself, taking his room key and deciding to take a little walk to clear his head. He makes it so far as a small sitting area near the front doors, taking out his phone once more as he sits down on one of the chairs. 

Twitter and Instagram are uninteresting as Harry scrolls them, crossing one of his legs underneath him. His eyes feel heavy. 

_“Harry, you can’t fall asleep. We’ve got to practice, Ben said so,” Louis urges from in front of him._

_Harry shakes his head, keeping his eyes closed stubbornly. “We’re just going to practice it tomorrow,” he mutters._

_Louis makes a noise of protest. “Just one more time — yeah? You can’t sleep early or you won’t sleep well before the competition,” Louis says, shaking his shoulder a little._

_Harry shakes his head, batting Louis’ hand away weakly. Louis is sixteen, Harry fourteen where they’re in a hotel room somewhere in Washington for the Junior Nationals, which is a pretty big deal, but. Harry’s really tired._

_“Don’t wanna practice, Lou,” Harry almost whines now._

_“How about this,” Louis starts. Harry opens one eye out of curiosity. “You stay awake we can do whatever you’d like.”_

_Harry sits up a little. “What, like — watch a scary movie?”_

_Louis nods, smiling. “Yeah, we could do that.”_

_“What about …” Harry pauses, thinking. “Kissing? Could we do more of that?”_

_It’s a little darker in their room, but Louis’ cheeks turning a little red is noticeable. They’ve got about half an hour until practice time is up and Louis’ due back to his and Jay’s room, where her and Anne are right now, having some ‘mommy tea time’, apparently._

_“We could also do that,” Louis says slowly._

_So Harry practices, goes through the routine one more time with Louis because it’s Ben’s orders, apparently, and it all goes smoothly. When they’re done Harry fiddles with the sleeve of his sweater awkwardly. They haven’t kissed since Kaylee’s birthday party and for some strange reason Harry feels unpracticed, if anything._

_They’re sitting on the edge of one of the hotel beds, Harry’s lips parted just a little when Louis leans in, kissing him. It’s careful, gentle, like their first kiss — not that Harry’s complaining from where he’s sitting. He kisses Louis back, having only kissed one other person apart from Louis, and that was Lucy at a party a few months back. But he remembers thinking she wasn’t as good a kisser as Louis was._

_Harry gently puts his hand on Louis’ knee, steadying himself in some way with the way his head is spinning now. Slowly, Harry runs his tongue along Louis’ lip experimentally and finds himself rewarded as Louis parts his lips in response, giving way for Harry to lick into his mouth._

_Everything is moving fast and slow all at once, Harry trying to remember and document each touch Louis leaves along his skin — how he sucks down on Harry’s lower lip, all of it. Harry lets out a small groan when Louis sucks down, unable to stop himself._

_“Like that?” Louis asks, laughing a little._

_Harry hums in response, putting a hand overtop Louis’ that’s still on his knee. Everything else is sort of fading away, feeling a bit of Louis’ fringe tickle his jawline as he leaves gentle kisses along Harry’s jaw line. Harry inhales sharply, because that solicits a different reaction entirely — one that goes directly to his dick, actually._

_Louis laughs a little, most likely seeing Harry’s reaction as he kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth. He lifts his hand and Harry’s mind is a haze of_ ‘is Louis going to touch my dick oh my God’ _when there’s a knock on the door._

_“Boys? Is practice done?” comes Anne’s voice._

_They pull apart quickly, Harry wiping his face as he takes in a deep breath. Louis is red, cheeks flushed and he’s laughing into his arm, Harry trying to mask his own laughter with a hand over his mouth._

_“Yeah we’re um — done,” Harry calls, hearing the door unlock._

Harry tenses at the memory, knuckles white where they’re gripping the edge of the couch he’s still sitting on. He looks up to see someone standing above him, a concerned look on their face.

“Are you — alright?” the man asks. Harry recognizes him, coughing into his hand.

“I’m — fine, sorry, just zoned out I think,” Harry says quickly, laughing nervously. “It’s um, Zayn Malik, isn’t it?”

Zayn pauses, blinking as he looks at Harry for a moment. “Yeah. And you’re — Harry Styles, right? The one partnered with Louis? I think I saw you guys earlier at the interviews,” Zayn says, motioning to the seat beside Harry. 

“Sit yeah, please,” Harry says, and Zayn accepts, now on the cushion next to him. “When did you get here?”

“Yesterday,” Zayn answers. “The jetlag’s fucking terrible though, ‘fraid it’s gonna throw me off completely.”

Harry grunts in agreement, leaning his head back. “Lou won’t let me fall asleep before practice,” he says. Zayn laughs, nodding.

“Least you have someone to keep you awake. I have to find ways to stay up,” Zayn says, smiling a little.

Harry pauses, nearly laughing. Someone to keep him awake, he repeats in his head as he taps a finger against his thigh. “How’s the rink? Have you been on it yet?”

“Really good, yeah. Fucking huge,” Zayn answers.

Harry makes a face, feeling a rush of nerves go through him at that answer. “If you aren’t busy you can come with a friend and I, we’re just going to get some food,” Zayn offers.

He opens his mouth to answer when — “Harry? How the fuck are you?”

Niall’s walking toward them, putting an arm around Zayn’s shoulders as he reaches them. “Are you coming out with us?”

Harry smiles, a little, shaking his head. “Got practice in a bit, can’t. Next time?”

“Holding you to that,” Niall says, he and Zayn saying goodbye before starting out the doors. Harry, a little smug and smiling to himself texts Louis _You’ll never guess who I just met in the hotel lobby ;)_

—

The rink is less than five minutes away, neither he or Louis saying anything the entire way there. They’re both nervous, Harry can feel it where he’s sitting in the back of the van they’re sitting in. 

As he gets out the first thing he notices is that there’s people around, a fair number of them as Harry’s brows furrow. Normally when he and Louis practice there isn’t anyone around except for Ben.

“They’re commentators, mostly. Media people,” Ben tells him when he and Louis get out onto the ice. 

They’re scheduled to have the rink for just the three of them, but Harry can see a handful of people out of the corner of his eyes. He swallows. “But you’re used to it, aren’t you?” Ben asks.

Louis nods, seemingly answering for them both of them as Harry takes another sip of his water. He’s nervous now, for some reason as he follows Louis for their warm-ups. Those go off without any issues, thankfully.

“Ready?” Ben calls from the sidelines.

Harry glances to Louis, briefly, who nods as he gives the thumbs up to Ben. They take first stance, Harry taking in a deep breath and counts down again in his head — 

There’s no longer the familiar banners hanging around the arena, instead the bright Olympic colours and the words _Sochi 2014_ everywhere he can see. But he focuses back on Louis, who looks equally about as lost as Harry feels. 

_“I’m um, bringing someone to the skate this weekend.”_

_Harry looks up where he’s looking at the schedule Ben had given them. “One of the twins?” he asks, because it’s usually one of the twins._

_Louis shakes his head. “No, it’s this person I’ve been seeing?”_

_Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment, pressing his lips together. “Like, dating?”_

_“Yeah his name is Colin? He’s pretty cool. He just wanted to come and see me skate, I guess? It’s not a big thing, or anything,” Louis says._

_Harry sets down the papers, chewing the inside of his cheek. “That’s great, Lou. He sounds pretty great.”_

_“You said that already,” Louis comments._

_“Said what?”_

_“Great. You said it twice.”_

_They’ve got a room to share this time, both their parents coming the day of the competition instead of along for the entire weekend. But Harry’s now sixteen and Louis is eighteen so it was bound to happen. Not that it’s been weird. Because it hasn’t._

_It’s just. Colin. That would explain why they haven’t kissed in a while, Harry realizes._

_“I don’t have any other adjectives I guess,” Harry mutters, now kicking at the carpet of the floor._

_“You’re sure it’s okay if he comes? He doesn’t like — have to come, or anything,” Louis asks again._

_“You can bring him, it’s fine,” Harry says, though it’s a bit sharper than what he’d intended. Immediately he watches Louis take a step back, recoiling a bit as regret forms up in Harry’s chest. “How long have you been seeing him?”_

_It shouldn’t be weird. Harry shouldn’t be feeling this way, whatever ‘this way’ is. Louis is his skating partner, that’s it._

_“Colin?” Louis asks. Harry nods. “I don’t know like, almost a month? Maybe?”_

_“That’s a while,” Harry says slowly. Louis frowns._

_“You’re not my mom. It’s not like I need to report to you when I start going on dates,” Louis says, his tone matching Harry’s in sharpness._

_“Sure, of course. Not your mom. You’re right,” Harry says, though it’s a little sarcastically._

_“Sure. Great. Glad we got that sorted,” Louis huffs, clearly annoyed now as he turns on the television._

_They don’t talk about it anymore. They especially don’t talk about it when Harry sees them afterward, outside in the lobby after the event they’d gotten silver in, Colin looking excited when Louis leans up to kiss him quick on the lips._

_It’s fine. It’s nothing._

“Harry — pick your fucking feet up!” Ben’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

Harry blinks, refocusing back on Louis who’s giving Harry a look, gripping his hand tightly which — fuck. Right. The routine. 

He doesn’t even notice the people in the stands anymore, instead keeping his thigh steady as Louis balances his skates on them, Harry extending his legs to the either side — just like they rehearsed. He breathes deep, focuses his weight before pulling Louis up over his shoulders, carefully letting him back onto the ice.

They finish with no more accidents, thankfully, Ben giving Harry a look as he skates to the edge of the rink to give the next set their practice time. Harry’s breathing heavily as he steps onto the rubber mats, Louis just behind him as they move to the bench to take off their skates.

“That wasn’t bad,” Ben says finally.

“Thanks,” Harry deadpans, rolling his eyes.

“Tomorrow morning you’ve got to stop by the American news studios, you’re giving an interview with NBC before your big performance,” Ben starts.

They’ve got an interview then practice again at eight, nothing much else besides that, apparently. He and Louis walk into the change rooms, still silent as Harry pulls on a sweater. Maybe, probably, he should say something to Louis — but nothing really comes to mind as he zips up his bag, pulling on his pair of sneakers.

“I think Zayn and Niall are gonna wanna hangout sometime this week, do you wanna come?” Harry settles on asking, just before Louis steps into the showers. Louis’ wearing nothing but a pair of track pants, his tattoos full on display as Harry licks his lower lip. 

“Sure, yeah. They seem pretty cool,” Louis answers, smiling a little. Though it looks a little sad, Harry thinks.

“Alright, well. I’ll see you later then?” Harry says, because the chances of seeing Louis in their room later are rather large, so.

“I’ll be back after my shower,” Louis tells him.

And that’s that, really.

—

The next day Harry lets himself sleep in till half past nine, not able to sleep any longer as he sits up. He changes into his running clothes, Louis still asleep as he closes the door behind himself.

There’s a few people in the hallway as he puts his earbuds in, picking his usual running playlist before starting out jogging on the sidewalk. He’s tired, eyes still heavy as he starts down an unfamiliar street. He and Louis went to bed a little after ten, the television playing as Harry had drifted off to sleep comfortably. But, Louis was still quiet, which isn’t sitting well with Harry.

As far as he knows, they’re alright. Ever since practice things have been going well, so it’s not like Louis has anything to be mad about. And Harry figures if he just goes up and asks Louis why he’s being so weird that won’t solicit a great reaction either, so he’s stuck wondering what the fuck he’s supposed to do.

Or, there’s the option he’s just imagining all this and making it up in his head. Which is probably true, due to his lack of sleep and nerves settling in. But still. When Louis is off, Harry feels it. It’s how it’s always been with them.

There’s a bit of ice on the streets as Harry tries to make sure he doesn’t slip and break his leg, because that wouldn’t be the best option. The cold air fills his lungs as he winces, the harsh winter air making his eyes tear a little in the corners, stinging. 

He does his usual hour run, breathless by the time he gets back to the hotel. He’d had to ask for directions back, having gotten horribly lost somewhere by a bakery and needing some help getting back.

When he reaches their room in athletes housing Louis is awake, the bathroom door locked; Harry hears the water running. He takes off his hat, tossing it onto his bed as he sits on the edge of it, checking his phone. There’s a text from Niall.

_Zayn and i are going out thursday ! You should come! Take Louis !_

Harry reads it over, considering. Their run isn’t until Saturday, so they could, technically, go out. If Louis even agrees to go; Harry isn’t sure he’ll even agree to it with it being so close to their first run. The water stops, Harry getting his shower things together as the door opens.

Louis emerges, giving a small smile as he runs a hand through his wet fringe. Harry bumps Louis with his shoulder, lightly. “Mornin’,” he says, hearing Louis laugh a little.

“Niall wants to know if you’ll go out with him and Zayn on Thursday,” Harry asks, standing in the bathroom doorway. It’s warm, a bit of steam still from Louis’ shower and smelling like his cologne as he hears Louis moving about on the carpeted floor.

“Dunno,” Louis says, “we have our run on Saturday.”

“Zayn’s is on Friday so I doubt we’ll be out late,” Harry says.

“Yeah, should be alright then,” Louis answers.

Harry grins, mostly to himself as he goes back into the bathroom. He starts the water, making it warm as he strips down, stepping inside. His whole body aches, muscles sore and legs feeling like jelly as he stands under the heat for a while, letting the water run over him. 

First he washes his hair, realizing how long it’s gotten since he’d last gotten a haircut. It had been a few months ago, when Lou had been around — he’d gone over with Gemma while she babysat Lux, the two of them in the hair salon she keeps setup in her basement.

Fuck, Harry misses her. Misses how she’d always know something was up, sometimes even before Harry would know. How she could always guess just what it is, always somehow knowing. 

“If it’s not about skating it’s about Louis, and if it’s not about Louis then it’s about skating,” she told him once, Harry looking up to see her smile knowingly in the mirror.

She’d texted him a picture of Lux the other day, at her second birthday party. With all the chaos of everything he hadn’t gotten to go, but he did get her the make-a-bake oven she’d been wanting for weeks. It was a picture of Lux with the box, one front toothless smile where she’d held up a thumbs up — the gift itself almost bigger than she is. Along with the signature ponytail, right at the top of her head.

Sometimes, if Harry was babysitting while Lou and Tom were out, they’d do each other’s hair. One time she looked at him, leaning her head to one side, clicking her tongue before starting to pull on his hair. “What’re you doing?” Harry asked, laughing a little.

“Gonna make you pretty, Harry,” she said, as if he should have guessed this. “We’re gonna have matching ponytails, just like mine.”

“Sounds good to me,” Harry said, hearing her give a loud laugh of approval.

Besides skating, Louis, a few friends and Lou, Tom and Lux — there isn’t much else for him, mostly. Not that Harry’s complaining, not really, it’s not like he has much time for anything else, not with the life he’s got. 

He can recall one night, he’d gone in for a haircut, just after Gemma had moved close to the city and started her new job. Harry had taken her out for lunch, then gone to Lou’s for tea and a haircut, which is standard for them.

“When are you gonna fess up then?” Lou asked, chopping a bit of hair off the back of his neck. 

“Fess up to what?” Harry asked in response, confused.

Lou stared at him for a moment, sighing. “Everything alright with Louis?” she’d asked instead.

“Sure, I guess. I mean. As good as they usually are with us,” Harry replied with a shrug.

“Well. Let me know if that changes then,” is all Lou had said on the matter, never bringing it up again unless Harry started talking about Louis.

He stays in the shower until the water starts to go cold, stepping out once more and drying himself off as he steps back out into their bedroom. There’s a note from Louis saying he’s gone to eat and work out, Harry reading it over as he sits on his bed once more. Aside from practice and their interview, he’s still got time to do — well, nothing, really.

Which is an odd feeling.

So with just under two hours to spare he goes to watch the next event, which is curling, apparently. Harry’s knowledge of curling is very limited as he makes his way to the arena, stepping inside as he finds a seat near the back. 

For one, there’s a lot of shouting, Harry realizes after a little while. But he stays until his hour is up, heading back to the hotel for their interview.

There’s a change of clothes waiting for him on the bed, going into the bathroom to change while Louis grabs a few last minute things before they meet Ben downstairs.

“We’re joined today by America’s own Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson,” one of the hosts, Chelsea, says with a large smile on her lips. “You two are said to have stolen America’s heart, did you know that?”

Harry glances to Louis where he’s beside him on the couch. Louis laughs, a little. “Has it? I didn’t know that,” he says, Harry nodding in agreement.

Chelsea gasps, shaking her head. “Oh no, Darlings Of The Ice, isn’t that what they’re called?”

The male host, Gerard, nods. “People are saying you two are gonna bring us home a gold,” he adds.

“I think we’d like that too but, no promises,” Harry responds, Gerard laughing.

“So tell me, two young men like you — are you dating? Engaged? Secretly married? The world wants to know,” Gerard asks, reading off of a card in his hand. 

Harry isn’t sure how to respond, thankful when he hears Louis say, “ah, well, that’s half the fun isn’t it? Leaving people guessing?”

“So you two aren’t together?” Chelsea asks, curious.

Harry clears his throat, Louis not saying anything right away. “No we’re um — skating partners but, that’s about it.”

“Well, friends too,” Louis adds.

“Thank God for that,” Gerard says, wiping a bit of nonexistent sweat from his forehead. 

From there the questions are standard, run of the mill interview questions that each of them answer easily. Where they’re from, when they started skating, how they got paired up together, ones he and Louis are used to.

“Now Chelsea and I were thinking,” Gerard begins with ten minutes left on the clock for their taping. “That we could get a little, demonstration.”

Harry blinks. “I don’t see a skating rink though,” he says, Louis laughing beside him.

Gerard grins at him, slowly starting to stand. “No, no skating we just thought you could, you know. Show us one of your tricks yeah?”

Louis is already looking at Harry as they both stand, each of them unsure. “What do you say?” Chelsea adds, clapping her hands together.

And, well. Without a second thought Harry puts his hands on Louis’ waist, looking at Louis as he nods, once. And from there it’s pretty simple, lifting Louis up. He’s been doing it for years now, tossing him a little into the air before he comes back into Harry’s arms, cheeks flushed and breathing heavily.

“Absolutely amazing,” Gerard encourages, both he and Chelsea clapping loudly.

Amazing might be a word, Harry thinks as he looks at Louis who’s smiling widely, saying something that Harry isn’t paying attention to anymore as they close up the interview.

—

“You awake?”

Louis’ voice is quiet compared to the television still playing, Harry’s back to him where he’s laying on his bed. He hasn’t been able to sleep, mostly laying there and hearing the sounds of whatever is on the television, mostly. 

He stirs, sitting up as he rubs his eyes tiredly. “Can’t sleep,” he mutters, voice low.

Louis is looking at him, sitting up, his expression unreadable in the dim lighting of their room. “Me either,” he says.

Harry smiles, a little. He plays with the edge of the blanket, taking in a deep breath. “Reminds me when we were younger. I could never sleep before any competition,” Harry says slowly.

Louis laughs quietly, nodding. “I remember.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment. It’s half past midnight but Harry doesn’t feel anywhere close to sleeping, not now. 

“You alright?”

Louis’ voice pulls him from his thoughts again, Harry glancing up toward him once more. “Think so. Nervous, I guess,” Harry admits.

“I understand that,” Louis says, teasing lightly.

Harry smirks, leaning his head back against the wall behind his bed. “Talked to Jay at all?” he asks, eyes now focused on the television screen.

“A bit, yeah. The girls are all excited apparently, won’t stop talking about our first run this week,” Louis says, smiling. “How’s Anne?”

“She’s good. Stressed for me, though that’s not really a surprise…” Harry trails off, rolling his eyes.

When Harry looks up again Louis is already looking at him, eyes tired and puffy as Harry waits for him to speak again. But Louis doesn’t have to say much, mostly just a nod of his head, patting the free space beside him does Harry understand, then.

He moves slowly, as if making sure this is what Louis had wanted as he crawls onto his bed carefully. “Don’t wanna sleep alone, I guess,” Louis mumbles and Harry nods, because he completely understands.

“We’re gonna be okay, yeah?” Louis adds after a moment.

Harry nods once more, leaning his head against the pillow. “Course we are,” he says quietly, unsure if he’s trying to convince Louis or himself of that.

They don’t say much else, Louis’ back to him as they lay there, the sounds of the television drowning out the sounds of them breathing. But Harry can feel the steady rise and fall of Louis’ chest, knows when he’s fallen asleep as it slows down. It’s not long before his eyes begin to feel heavy, eyes slowly falling shut and a loose arm coming around Louis’ waist, gently.

When he wakes up Louis is still asleep as he gets out of bed, trying not to wake him. But even when Louis is awake they don’t talk about it. Makes it easier in some ways, he supposes.

— 

Practices go as they normally do, both Harry and Louis listening to Ben’s coaching from the sidelines as they go through the routines, both in their team USA gear. Though admittedly, Harry’s sweater is a bit too short for him but, it’s fine.. Everything is fine, as far as Harry’s concerned, and they’ve got nothing to worry about.

“Where are we going again?” Louis asks on Thursday, changing into a shirt and a pair of his nicer jeans.

“Dunno. Niall found this place him and Zayn go to a lot,” Harry replies with a shrug.

Louis doesn’t say anything, instead reaching for his phone as Harry pulls a plaid shirt from his suitcase. They’re due at the front entrance in about five minutes, taking his own phone as they start off toward the stairs.

“Sure you wanna go out tonight?” Harry asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Louis asks, more defensive than what Harry had been expecting. 

“Dunno, just. You normally don’t go out so close to a run,” Harry explains.

“Gotta live before I get older, don’t I?” Louis says, stepping through the door as Harry follows him.

Niall and Zayn are already there, sitting rather close on a couch as they’re looking at a phone as they both approach. “Ah, you’re both here. Thought one of you was going to wimp out on me,” Niall says, leading them out the doors.

It’s a five minute walk to the bar, according to Niall as Harry pulls his jacket closer around his body. “Someone’s meeting us there, too. A friend of mine, hope that’s okay,” he adds, though neither he or Louis make any objections.

Harry walks beside Niall, Louis and Zayn chatting behind them as they walk inside. It’s warmer in the bar, thank fuck, Harry thinks as he shivers a little. “Lads,” Niall starts as they approach a booth with only one person in it, a man who looks vaguely familiar to Harry. “This is Liam. Liam, this is Harry and Louis.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry says, Louis following him as they sit in the booth. Harry’s beside Liam, Louis on his other side as Niall and Zayn slide in on the other side.

They soon find out Liam is on the curling team, which is why Harry finds him so familiar. Niall gets them all one pint, the lighting dim in the bar as Harry takes a sip. Niall’s talking about back home, Harry only half listening where he’s pressed up at Louis’ side. 

“How long have you guys been skating together?” Liam asks.

“Thirteen years?” Harry replies, Louis nodding in confirmation.

“Fuck,” Niall says. He looks between them, eyes wide. “And you two aren’t sick of each other yet?”

Harry snorts, Louis grinning, clearly amused as they shake their heads. Zayn asks Liam something about curling as Harry zones out a bit, leaning his head back against the padded seat behind him.

_“Colin dumped me.”_

_Louis is in front of him, eyes puffy where he’s holding a cup. “What?” Harry asks, making sure he heard correctly._

_“I said —” Louis begins again after taking another sip of his drink, “Colin dumped me.”_

_And the thing is, Harry shouldn’t be as happy with this news as he is, almost giddy where he’s standing now. “What, why?”_

_“He said it was too much — the skating, me never being around,” Louis explains, sighing loudly. “Fuck I don’t know he just. Wanted out, I guess.”_

_Harry carefully puts a hand on Louis’ waist, tugging him closer. He can smell the alcohol on Louis’ breath, Harry himself having had a few too many. Louis steps toward him with no hesitation, wrapping his arms around Harry’s middle._

_“Hey,” Harry says gently, rubbing his thumb along Louis’ shoulder. “Wanna get out of here?”_

_Louis nods, the two of them starting outside, toward the front porch. Harry pushes through a few small crowds, feeling Louis’ hand on his arm as they step outside. It’s warmer outside; the sort of sticky, summer heat that makes Harry’s head feel heavy._

_“I guess I didn’t really even like him that much anyway,” Louis slurs, going to sit on a step as Harry goes to sit beside him._

_Harry presses his face into Louis’ shoulder, nudging him gently. “Liar,” he says softly._

_Louis rolls his eyes, pushing Harry’s face away with a hand. “I’m serious. He liked football too much.”_

_Harry scrunches his nose, biting at the end of Louis’ index finger. “Good riddance, then,” he says._

_There’s music still playing loudly inside, muffled by the walls as Harry feels removed it now, out here with Louis. He wants to reach out and take Louis’ hand, trace ridiculous patterns into his palm and tell him stories of when he was younger, and about how whenever he was sad him and Gemma used to go out and play dress up in the lawn until they were called in for dinner. But Harry doesn’t, instead listening to the sound of the freeway just a little way’s away._

_“Do you remember the day we first met?” Louis asks, taking another sip of his drink. Harry left his inside, in the kitchen, not bothering to go back and get it anymore._

_“‘Course I do,” he says._

_Louis is looking up at the sky, sighing, as he props himself up against his elbows. “I thought you were going to hate me.”_

_“What? Louis — why on earth would you think that?” Harry asks._

_“Dunno. Ben was always telling me that if I got my act together I could make something of myself in the skating world. Used to talk about you a lot,” Louis says._

_Harry blinks, mostly in disbelief. “Ben said that?”_

_“Mhm,” Louis hums in response._

_They fall quiet again, neither of them making any effort to go back inside. It’s a little while later Harry catches himself staring at Louis, eyes trailing along his face in the dim light of the porch. It’s still warm; a bit of sweat starting to build on the back of his neck._

_“Colin’s an idiot,” Harry says._

_Louis smiles, glancing toward Harry. “You don’t have to say that.”_

_Harry shakes his head, insistent. “No, I mean it Lou. He’s a fucking moron,” Harry starts._

_“Since when do you say fuck?” Louis asks, in what looks to be amusement._

_“Since a while now, I guess?” Harry says, now feeling slightly embarrassed. “I am nineteen, I think I’m allowed to say it.”_

_“A real adult, look at you. Soon you’ll be smoking cigars and drinking brandy in an old library,” Louis teases, pinching the skin of Harry’s forearm._

_Harry makes a small noise, hitting Louis’ hand away gently. “How long were you guys together, anyway?”_

_Louis’ expression a little at the question, and Harry regrets asking it as he speaks again. “We were on and off for a long time, I guess. Never really committed to anything.”_

_“Sorry,” Harry says quickly, “shouldn’t have asked.”_

_“It’s fine, Harry,” Louis assures him with a gentle hand gripping his forearm briefly, before letting go._

_When Louis looks back toward him, Harry finds himself already looking at him again. He clears his throat, a little flustered as he turns to look down at his hands, which are folded neatly in his lap. “Hey —” Louis starts, leaning forward, just a bit._

_“Hi,” Harry says back, rather enjoying the smile Louis gives him in response._

_Their noses brush, the touch warm in the summer air as Harry presses forward and — they’re kissing. It’s been so long, Harry thinks as he nearly sighs with relief. But instead he brings a hand to Louis’ cheek, both of them moving closer toward one another. They’re both a little drunk, Louis’ lips tasting like salt and a bit of tequila from the shots they’d taken earlier, and Harry can’t seem to get enough of it._

_“Missed this,” Harry says softly, pulling away for just a brief moment._

_“Me too — fuck,” Louis agrees._

_Harry turns his body, just a bit, so Louis is close against him — sending warmth through his body, a warmth he hasn’t felt in years, it feels like. “Forgot how good you were at this,” Louis teases, Harry laughing against his lips in response._

_“Fuck you,” Harry breathes before biting down on Louis’ lips in response._

_It’s a lot of kisses and gentle touches, Louis running his fingertips along Harry’s forearm — sending goosebumps along his skin despite the heat. When they finally pull apart Louis’ lips are red, his hair tousled at Harry guesses he looks about the same, running a hand through his hair._

_“Glad to have you around, you know,” Louis says._

_Harry puts a gentle arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. “You’re alright I guess,” he says, Louis making a sound or disapproval as he pokes Harry’s side, laughing into his neck._

“Harry?”

Zayn’s looking at him from across the table, everyone else quiet around the booth. “Sorry. I was — out of it,” Harry says quickly, ignoring the look Louis is giving him.

“We just asked if you wanted to see a movie this weekend, after yours and Louis’ run?” Zayn asks.

“That’d be great, yeah,” Harry says, nodding. 

The rest of the evening is nice, filled with easy conversations and the most relaxed Harry’s felt in weeks. By the time he and Louis get back to their room it’s a little half past eleven, Harry already exhausted as he nearly collapses onto his bed.

“Tired?” Louis asks, smirking.

Harry doesn’t say anything, just holds up his middle finger as Louis laughs, taking the bathroom first with a shut of the door. By the time Louis is done Harry’s nearly half asleep, practically having to drag himself to wash his face and brush his teeth before falling into bed and letting himself drift off to sleep.

—

The night before their first run Harry doesn’t sleep well. Mostly he just lies in his bed, shifting every so often to get himself comfortable, but nothing really seems to help. Across from him Louis is seemingly fast asleep, and Harry is forever envious of him for that.

He doesn’t even know why he’s that nervous, it’s not like they haven’t done this loads of times. Because they have. 

He and Louis get ready in silence, changing into their costumes before the big warm up. Harry feels sick, like he can’t get a good grasp on whatever it is that’s eating him up inside. When they’re both ready he looks at Louis, then reaches for his hand, slowly. Louis grips it, hands surprisingly warm and soft despite the cold air around them.

Harry pauses, stepping toward him and Louis doesn’t move, standing in front of him as he presses their foreheads together. “We’re gonna be okay,” Harry says slowly, as if he’s trying to convince himself.

“We’re gonna be fucking amazing,” Louis says, fiddling with a loose curl by Harry’s ear. “I don’t think I could do this with anyone else, you know.”

Harry smiles a little, feeling more at ease as he nods. “Me too,” he agrees, Louis gripping his hand once more before they go out onto the ice.

Ben’s watching them, leaning over the edge of the rink as they take off. They’re second, right after Nicholas and Cindy as Harry goes through their warm up. He just needs to focus, that’s all, just keep his mind focused and he’ll be fine. His shirt is a little scratchy, trying his best to ignore it as he takes in a deep breath.

Everyone’s faces pass by in a blur, the cameras noticeable as they follow each skater around the rink. Louis is a little ways behind him, Harry still seeing him out of the corner of his eyes as he shakes his arms at his sides. 

He’s fine. They’re going to fine.

“Skaters, if you could please exit the rink so the first pair can begin their routine,” comes an announcer.

Harry feels sick again but then Louis is there, hand in Harry’s as they skate off toward the edge. They go to their designated seating area, Ben there as Harry tries to stop the shaking in his fingers. 

Nicholas and Cindy do well. Really well.

And then suddenly, they’re next. Harry feels a sense of panic go through him because they haven’t had enough time to prepare, they haven’t done enough, he thinks quickly as he tries to fucking breathe.

“Up next, representing the United States of America — Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles,” the announcer says. 

“You guys can do this. I’ll be right here but you don’t need me. You just need each other, okay?” Ben says, clasping both their shoulders.

Harry gives Louis a look before they skate out onto the ice, smiles on their faces and hands raised in a wave toward the crowd, which. Is really large.

Louis is looking at him as they skate to the middle, both of them breathing heavily. They don’t say anything, Louis gripping his hand again as they go into first position. 

And then the music starts, and they’re off.

_“You know I really like you, Harry,” she says, voice quiet._

_Harry looks up at her, blinking as he holds his water bottle awkwardly. “I like you too,” Harry says, confused._

_“No, like —” Aimee pauses, laughing nervously. “I like_ like _you, Harry,” she clarifies._

_Harry swallows, now realizing what she really means. “Oh, um —” he starts, suddenly feeling weirdly nervous. “You know I’m not like, looking for anything right now?”_

_Aimee shakes her head, pushing some of her dark hair behind her ear. “I figured,” she says simply._

_“What do you mean?” Harry asks._

_“Well I mean, it’s pretty obvious you’re rather taken with someone else,” she says, shrugging._

_Harry pauses, glancing toward where she’s currently staring and — oh. There’s Louis, Harry observes, feeling something in his chest tighten at the sight of him, standing there. They’ve just finished practice for the day, Harry already changed in his sweats and a sweater as Louis stayed, talking to someone at the edge of the rink, still in his costume and rather immersed in whatever it is they’re talking about._

_“No we’re not, anything, we’re just —”_

_“Partners, I know,” Aimee interrupts him, “everyone knows, Harry.”_

_He’s known Aimee most of his life, another fellow skater with her own partner, Brian. They’ve been around a little longer than Harry and Louis, the same age — Aimee nineteen and Brian twenty-one, same as him and Louis._

_“So I don’t know why you seem angry about this,” Harry says._

_Aimee laughs, “of course you don’t.”_

_“Did I do something? I’m not —”_

_“Just do something about Louis, Harry,” Aimee says, firmly. “Because you know neither of you are going to wait around forever.”_

_Harry opens his mouth, wanting to say something but he can’t — think of anything, feet planted on the concrete. “Anyway,” she adds, “I should go. I’ll see you next week?”_

_“Yeah, sure,” Harry says, still a little stunned as he watches her walk away._

_“You alright?” comes a voice beside him as Harry turns, finding Louis next to him._

_He’s wearing similar clothes to Harry now, track pants and an overly large sweater that if Harry had to guess he would assume to be his, seeing how it hangs past Louis’ hands. “Fine,” Harry says simply._

_Louis nods, tugging on his arm as they walk back out toward their cars. But Aimee’s voice is still going through his mind, over and over again._

_Neither of you are going to wait around forever._

For a moment, a brief one, but a moment nonetheless Harry worries he might lose his balance where he’s carefully got Louis perched on his thighs, both his skates digging into Harry. But he doesn’t, instead staying steady as he lets Louis back down onto the ice. When he does they’re greeted with cheers, loud and followed by claps and they’re almost done — Harry thinks as he does one last spin, feet planting back down onto the ice.

As they take last position Harry runs the back of his hand along Louis’ cheek, just as they had rehearsed, just like Ben had told him to. 

The music cuts out and people are cheering again, voices loud and thunderous in the arena that it makes Harry’s heart pound harder in his chest, him and Louis skating off to await their score.

“You did great,” Ben encourages, hugging them both as they put on their skate guards. 

Louis is nervous, Harry can feel how tense he is next to him on the small bench. Harry thinks he might be cold, he’s not sure; mostly he just feels numb all over as they sit, waiting.

“Can we have the score please,” the announcer says.

Louis is gripping his hand so tight Harry thinks it might fall off as their number goes up on the screen: 68.41.

“Oh my God,” Louis breathes, pulling Harry into a hug.

It’s not as good as Nicholas and Cindy but, as of right now, they’re in second place. “Fuck,” Harry says back, face buried in Louis’ neck and Ben congratulating them.

It’s not first, but Harry doesn’t really care, not right now.

—

At the end of the day, they’re still in second. Which is somehow terrifying and mindblowing and scary all at once.

He calls his mom when they get back to their room, sitting on his bed and listening to her half crying to him on the other line. Harry smiles a little, hearing Gemma yelling incoherent things in the background.

“I know, mom, I know —” Harry keeps getting cut off mid sentence when she starts talking again, so he gives up entirely on getting a word in as he settles on listening instead.

By the time he hangs up it’s just him and Louis, in the quiet of their room unlike the chaos and shouts they’d heard in the arena just a little while ago.

“Second place. Can you believe it?” Louis asks a while later.

Harry smiles, turning to look at Louis where he’s lying on his own bed. “I was kind of hoping for first,” he teases.

Louis rolls his eyes, throwing a pillow toward Harry in response.

—

The day before their final run, Louis goes out.

Harry stares at him at the foot of his bed, mostly in disbelief. “You’re — going out?” he asks for the second time in the past minute.

“It’s just Zayn, and we’re just going to get some food and stuff, it’s fine,” Louis repeats himself for the second time.

Harry shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he’s just heard. “You never go out before a run.”

“I just — need to talk to Zayn about some stuff,” Louis says, sighing.

“Like what? Why can’t you talk to me about it?”

A moment passes between them then, one Harry isn’t sure how to read as he watches Louis shift where he’s taking a jacket out of one of his bags.

“It’s nothing, Harry, it’s fine.”

“What do you guys like — have a thing?”

Louis stops midway putting his arm through one of his sleeves, looking at Harry. “I’m sorry?”

“You know. A _thing_.” Harry repeats.

“You do realize that Zayn and Niall are together, right?” Louis asks.

“Oh,” Harry says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Then, “what?”

“Jesus, H, you can be so slow sometimes,” Louis says, but he’s smiling.

“Shut up,” Harry mumbles.

“Idiot,” Louis says.

Harry opens his mouth, in an attempt to look shocked. “Take that back!” he says.

Louis laughs, shaking his head. “I will not,” he says firmly.

“You’re going to regret this —” Harry starts, pressing a finger into Louis’ side.

“Harry, Harry no I’m going to be late —”

But Louis is cut off when Harry continues to tickle his sides, hearing Louis laugh loudly. It’s been so long since he’s heard that sound, Harry realizes as he feels Louis squirm beneath his grasp. They’re a bit breathless by the time they fall back onto the bed, neither of them relenting. 

Louis is most certainly going to be late when he’s finally got Harry pinned beneath him, a more than satisfied look on his face when he does. “Give up now, Styles?”

Harry’s head is spinning, staring up at Louis. It’s like — if he wanted, he could lean up and kiss him, right now. Louis’ weight is firm against him and it’s making his heart beat up in his chest, eyes tracing the outline bow of Louis’ lips because he can’t seem to help himself, apparently.

Just as he notices Louis is starting to lean down, Harry closes his eyes, just for a moment, but then suddenly Louis’ weight suddenly isn’t on him anymore — no longer pinning him to his mattress as Harry blinks his eyes open. Neither of them say anything, and Harry sits up as Louis shrugs on his jacket.

“Lou —” he tries, knowing in the back of his head what’s probably going to happen.

Before he can even finish saying his name, Louis shakes his head and is gone, the click of the door behind him leaving the room is silence.

Harry should maybe be more surprised, but he isn’t, instead taking his phone and telling himself that’s how it’s always going to be with them. 

— 

He’s not drunk, but he is lonely. Which is why, presently, Dylan has his arm around Harry’s waist and is waiting as he tries to unlock the door to his room. 

Louis texted, saying he might not be back tonight at all — will most likely stay in Zayn’s room and meet him at the rink before their run tomorrow, which. Harry has never slept without Louis in the same room before a run since he was sixteen. Now at twenty-two Harry’s not sure he’d sleep alone, so he’d gone out and found himself some company.

Apparently Dylan doesn’t compete until tomorrow afternoon. A snowboarder, as Harry had learned, who also knows Niall.

Something about this doesn’t feel right, but Harry ignores that part of himself, instead pressing his lips to Dylan’s as the door shuts behind them. He can feel one of Dylan’s hand already underneath his shirt, warm and a little comforting, Harry thinks to himself.

“This alright?” Dylan asks, voice hushed in the stillness of the room.

Harry nods, his breath smelling like mint and a bit of vanilla — unlike Louis. He shouldn’t be thinking about Louis. God, he’s so fucked up, isn’t he?

But he doesn’t think about Louis, doesn’t let himself. Instead he lets Dylan tug on the waist of his pants, sending a shot of warmth through Harry in response as he bites down on his lower lip, holding back a groan.

It’s probably not the smartest, taking someone back to his room when he’s got to be up early in the morning. Also probably not a the best idea because Louis could, technically, be back at any moment. But Louis’ text did say he was going to be gone all night, so it’s not like Harry has any reason not to believe him.

Harry’s taking in short breaths, Dylan’s weight against him on the bed. 

_“I don’t — think we should kiss anymore.”_

_Harry looks up where he’s been reading through a magazine as he and Louis sit in a car on their way to their next event, bored._

_He looks at Louis where he’s driving, hands on the steering wheel and not even so much as glancing at Harry. “What?”_

_Louis takes in a deep breath, as if he’s been preparing this for a while. Harry suddenly feels cornered at the thought of him wanting to say this for a long time, and not having any clue about it._

_“I mean, if it’s not going to mean anything then we shouldn’t, right? One of us is just going to end up getting hurt,” Louis continues, almost nervously._

_If it’s not going to mean anything, Harry says again in his head. He blinks, staring out his window for a moment, trying to process._

_What does he say? ‘But Louis I would really like to keep kissing you,’ ‘Why’s that Harry?’ ‘Because I think I like you more than a skating partner,’ ‘Oh.’_

_That wouldn’t go over well. Not well at all, actually, Harry thinks with a fair bit of panic. If he says something now, he might lose Louis. And he thinks it would be better to have Louis here but not be able to kiss him than not have him at all._

_“Right,” Harry says finally, not sure what else there is to say._

_“Are you — I mean, is that okay?” Louis asks._

_“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?” Harry says, now looking at him._

_Louis’ eyebrows are furrowed, a mixture of hurt and something else Harry can’t recognize. “I don’t know I was just, checking, I guess,” Louis says, a sense of finality to his voice._

_So, no more kissing Louis, Harry tells himself as he goes back to his magazine. Though all he can think about is the weird ache in his chest, sitting with him for the rest of the way._

“Oh my God.”

Harry freezes, Dylan moving off of him as he sits up, first seeing Louis. “I’m — just, going to go,” Louis adds, taking a step backward.

“No, Louis — don’t go —” Harry starts, now looking frantically for his shirt and trying to do up his belt at the same time.

“I think I should go,” Dylan says instead, taking his small pile of things near the door.

Louis looks at Harry, then Dylan. “Yeah, you should,” Louis says, voice firm and cold.

When he finally does go Harry stands there, neither of them speaking for about half a minute. “Louis —” Harry starts, “what the hell?”

Louis is just staring at him, lips pressed into a thin line. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What is this about then? Our run tomorrow?” Harry snaps, not even trying to stop himself. “Because you got to go out — so why couldn’t I?”

He feels like he’s three again, explaining his actions. Louis has his arms crossed over his chest, looking as closed off as Harry’s ever seen him. “You don’t have a fucking clue, do you?” Louis finally asks.

Harry almost laughs. Almost. “Apparently I don’t have a fucking clue, so why don’t you tell me?”

Louis shakes his head. “I was — I couldn’t fucking sleep, because I haven’t slept before a competition without you since I was eighteen which probably isn’t that long, but I couldn’t do it. So I came back and it looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

His tone is spiteful, something Harry isn’t used to. Then again he supposes he sounds about the same right now, defensive and angry. 

“Nice, Lou, really nice,” Harry spits, frustrated. 

“I’m just — going to go back to Zayn’s,” Louis says, hand on the door handle as he opens it.

Harry follows after him, watching him walk down the small hallway. “That’s great, Louis, really fucking great,” Harry starts. Louis doesn’t turn around, doesn’t make any effort to look back at him. “Oh, great, you’re just gonna walk away again? I’m getting really used to that, Lou.”

He hears the slam of the door to the stairwell, but nothing else. It’s silent once again.

—

When he arrives at the rink the next morning Louis is already there. Harry’s a few minutes late, having gotten up late and everything else after that happening late in succession. Which wouldn’t be so stressful if today weren’t the day that decides if they win a gold medal or not, or anything.

They don’t say anything, and Harry knows Louis is still angry — can see it clearly in the way he carries himself around; the way he gets ready, as far away from him as possible.

If Ben notices there’s something off he doesn’t comment on it, instead giving them one last, brief, pep talk before they’re called out onto the ice. Louis is still gripping his hand, not letting go as they stop in the middle. Harry stares at him for a moment but Louis doesn’t waver; never has.

The music starts and Harry tries to tell himself that he just needs to breathe; that’s all he needs to do now. 

_Everyone thought they were going to go, everyone. When their names were brought up it was just assumed that they were going to go the Olympics this year in Vancouver._

_But they didn’t get through. Harry swallows, gripping his hands together as they get the news. He doesn’t look at Louis, he doesn’t look at Ben, he just stares at his skates. Like this is somehow one big terrible dream and he’s made it all up._

_“Hey,” Louis says gently, nudging his knee. “It’s okay. We’re gonna be okay.”_

_Harry shakes his head, not looking up still. There’s a scuff mark just below his laces. “This is all we’ve wanted, Lou.”_

_“I know,” Louis says, brushing the back of his hand against Harry’s comfortingly. “I know, I know but — we’ll just try again, yeah?”_

_Harry can feel a lump rising in his throat, unable to stop it as he takes in a slow, deep breath. “Is it because I fucked up the last spin?”_

_Louis shakes his head, smiling a little. “It was a bunch of things, apparently. But you can’t go play the blaming game,” he says slowly._

_Harry doesn’t say anything, stays quiet where he’s sitting on the bench. It’s just — he’s wanted this, they’ve wanted this for so long, and it’s gone. And just like that, with no warning, no second chance, nothing; it’s gone._

_They stay there a while, none of them moving. “I really thought we could do this,” Harry murmurs._

_Louis wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist. “We’re gonna do it, just. Not right now.”_

_Harry presses their foreheads together, fingers tangled together with Louis’ so he doesn’t even know whose are whose anymore._

_“Not now,” Harry repeats, nodding sadly._

He’s still pissed, they both are. But they can’t let that get between them, not now, not after everything they’ve fucking been through to get here. 

Everyone’s quiet, all he can hear is the music and the sound of their skates against the ice in the same, constant movement. 

He can feel Louis’ eyes on him as the music builds, leading them to the lift Harry’s been struggling with for weeks now. Harry knows it’s coming, can feel the anticipation thrumming through his hands all the way down to his fingertips. 

With his hands on Louis’ waist Harry hears him inhale sharply, keeping himself as steady as he can as Harry lifts him up over his shoulder — and he gets it.

They fucking _nail_ it, better than they ever have before. He can feel it in the way the crowd goes stock still and then surges up all around them, screaming louder than they’ve ever heard them, in the way Louis is squeezing his hand so tight, the way the blood is roaring in his ears and his heart may just pound its way out of his chest.

The crowd is loud and excited, everyone cheering so loud Harry’s head is buzzing as him and Louis do their last couple of spins before going to their last position. Louis is smiling, beaming under the bright lights of the rink and Harry can’t take his eyes off him, not yet.

In fact, he keeps looking at Louis all the way off the rink, putting on their skate guards, and back onto the bench they were sitting on just a few days ago. Harry is nervous, a bit, but he can’t stop thinking that they did it — they really fucking did it.

“Can we get the score, please,” the announcer says once more.

Louis is gripping his hands, both their knuckles white as Harry holds in a breath. And there it is. 110.42. 

Which makes their total score 221.57. “Shit,” Harry breathes, heart racing in his chest. “Shit, _shit_ , Louis we —”

“We got gold,” Louis says, “Harry, fuck we — we did it.”

Harry hugs him close, arms tight around him as he presses kisses to the top of Louis’ head, still in disbelief and still not able to really fucking believe it.

There’s still two couples to go but Harry can feel it, knows it already. 

And two couples later, the results are in.

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are golden.

—

There’s a weird mixture of excitement, anger, and uncertainty when they go back to the change rooms. Harry feels like he’s on fire, hardly any thoughts in his head coherent as he starts changing.

“Harry —” Louis breaks the silence, but Harry shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” he says simply.

“It’s not, though,” Louis says firmly.

They shouldn’t be talking about this now. But then again, Harry isn’t sure when else they would talk about it. “I guess not,” Harry says in agreement. “I’m sorry,” he finally settles on saying.

“Doesn’t really count if you don’t know why you’re even apologizing,” Louis says, rubbing at his eyes wearily.

“It would help if you told me why I was in the first place,” Harry snaps. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry for taking Dylan back to our room?”

“That’s a start,” Louis says.

“Don’t think I need to apologize for that when you were the one who left in the first place,” Harry argues.

Louis pauses, not saying anything as he takes a jacket out of his bag. “I just — I didn’t want you getting distracted so close to our last run,” he says finally.

“Bullshit,” Harry spits. Louis stiffens in response, but doesn’t say anything. Harry continues, “it’s not just that and you know it, Louis.”

Louis doesn’t look at him. “Does it even matter?”

“Of course it matters,” Harry starts, not even bothering trying to stop himself. He’s tired of holding back. “It matters because if you — if you want something more than just skating partners then you need to say it, right now, or else I’m never going to ask again, and we’re never going to talk about it again.”

“Do you want to be more than skating partners?” Louis asks.

“Fuck, Lou, of course I do,” Harry breathes, immediate relief and nerves flooding through him when he does. “Do you know what it’s been like? All these years and having you on the ice but nothing more than that? Of having you — but not getting all of you?”

Louis puts his arms through his jacket, not saying anything again for a few moments. He looks scared maybe, Harry thinks, just about as scared as he feels, right now. 

Louis runs his tongue along his lower lip, running his hand along his thighs. They’ve never really had any sort of problems talking but this is different, Harry thinks. This isn’t just about skating anymore.

“We’ve known each other for thirteen years,” Louis says finally.

“I know,” Harry says in response, waiting for him to continue.

“I just — fuck,” Louis breathes, now standing as he slowly starts to pace in front Harry now. “What do you want me to say then?”

“Whatever you want to say,” Harry replies, confused. 

“Alright, then. I’m mad.”

Harry blinks, running a hand through his hair. That’s a start, he figures. “Care to tell me why?”

“You should fucking _know_ why,” Louis snaps, now looking at where he’s pacing along the floor.

“If this is about last night, or something else you have to actually tell me at some point you know,” Harry says.

Louis stops pacing and thank God, it was starting to make Harry dizzy. Louis crosses his arms over his chest. “I fucking wanted you to stay, didn’t you get that?”

“I did stay. You’re the one who left,” Harry points out.

Louis sighs, frustrated. “That’s not — what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Harry asks.

“I just.” Louis pauses, hands balled up in fists at his sides. “I’ve always wanted you to stay, here. With me. More than skating partners and more than any of that, just. You and me.”

And there it is, all he’s ever needed to say. That he just wanted Harry to stay. That he just wants Harry. “Then why didn’t you say anything?” Harry asks.

“You made it pretty abundantly clear that you wanted nothing to do with me in that way,” Louis says curtly.

“What, last night? Is that what I made clear?” Harry asks, now getting angry himself. “Well thank you for clearing that up for me, I wasn’t aware.”

“If you wanted me I figured you would’ve said something instead of taking some guy back to our room,” Louis says, tone harsh.

“I’m just reading off the signs that I’ve been given by you,” Harry says, holding up his hands. Louis stares at him again, unmoving.

“What gave you that idea?” Louis asks.

Harry snorts. “Because you said we shouldn’t kiss anymore?”

“When did I say that?”

“I don’t know, a few years ago, I think? We were on our way to nationals and you just said that —”

“A few _years_ ago?” Louis asks, rubbing his temples. “You have some memory there, Harry.”

“You said we shouldn’t kiss anymore, Louis, so I just figured that that meant you didn’t want to —” 

“Didn’t want to what?” Louis presses.

“Didn’t want to, I don’t know, fuck — didn’t want to kiss me anymore? Didn’t want to do that to our relationship?” Harry replies, unsure of how else to put it.

This, is a big thing, right here. Bigger than a gold medal and bigger than anything that could come from skating because it’s him and Louis, trying to figure out what the fuck they’re doing. Because Harry sure as fuck doesn’t know, and it feels like Louis doesn’t quite know, either. 

“I just. I didn’t — don’t — want us to get hurt,” Louis says. 

“Well, I think we’ve been hurt either way now,” Harry says, rubbing a hand along his face. Louis opens his mouth to say something until —

“What are you two doing in there?” comes Ben’s voice, rushed. “You’ve got a press conference. Get the fuck out here.”

Harry looks at Louis, but he’s already busying himself with getting his last few things as he follows Harry out of the change room, instead to the sound of camera’s flashing and people saying their names loudly.

—

“So, Harry. Tell us, what it’s like to be partners with Louis for so many years? Because you two have an obvious connection on the ice with one another.”

As far as press conferences go, this one has been easy; almost enjoyable. There was a few questions on what their favourite music to work to is, or what the last film they saw was — but now they’re getting down to the good the questions, the one’s Harry likes. 

Harry shifts in his seat, giving Louis a quick, sidelong glance. Louis nods, a small smile on his lips that comforts Harry a bit, if anything. “Well, how much time do I have?” Harry asks, hearing a small chuckle from the audience in response. He folds his hands in front of him, focusing. “I’ve been skating with Louis for almost thirteen years now, and I can honestly say that I’ve never grown tired or regretted any of it once.”

There’s a quiet ‘aww’ from the audience, Louis clearing his throat beside him. “But the first thing that comes to mind is when I first met Louis, back when we were younger and inexperienced. Our coach, Ben, thought it would be better to pair us up with someone and had thought Louis would be a good fit for me. I thought he was full of shit, but —” Harry pauses, hearing Ben laugh loudly near the back of the room. “I guess it worked out alright, didn’t it?”

Louis shrugs, but he’s still smiling. “Mostly, I think what it all comes down to is that Louis is my partner, but that’s such a big word — bigger than most people realize when it comes to something like figure skating, I think. With a partner you need to trust them completely, because with that trust you’re not going to let them take full control of your body when you lift them up over your head — when you’re balancing them precariously on your thigh as you glide across the ice, that’s not a small thing to do with someone. It’s — God, it’s so hard to explain, isn’t it?”

“Not easy, no. But you’re doing alright I suppose, all this considered,” Louis teases, speaking into his mic. 

Harry rolls his eyes, taking a quick sip of his water. “With someone else, as opposed to skating alone, I think there’s more pressure because it’s not just yourself hoping for your personal best, but it’s another person as well. And you’re sort of depending on each other, I guess you could say, in this weird co-dependent relationship, sort of. But with someone like Louis it’s easy. And by easy I mean it’s easy to trust him and rely on him because he gives so much of himself into our routines and pours himself out onto the ice when he skates that sometimes I just find myself standing there and just — admiring him. He’s just someone you can sit and admire what they’re like, I think. And I respect Louis for so many things, on and off the ice, and I think that’s another vital thing that a skating couple needs that we have. Respect.”

He’s rambling, he’s really rambling because Louis is giving him a look, _the_ look and nudging Harry’s leg with his knee, gently. Harry shakes his head, trying to regain himself. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. I’m really bad for rambling, just ask Louis.”

Louis nods in agreement, more people laughing. “But I think with Louis, it just comes down to my first thought, back when I was nine and we were skating together for the first time,” Harry says, voice slower now as he smiles now, reminiscent. “Mostly it was that my dream was just to hold Louis’ hand for as long as I could, I don’t think I was thinking Olympics."

It’s quiet for a moment, but Harry feels something warm on his knee, unmoving. It’s Louis’ hand, he realizes after about half a minute of it resting there. He inhales sharply, another reporter raising her hand now with a question.

“Louis? What would you say about your skating experience with Harry in all your years together?” she asks, clipboard pressed to her chest.

Louis swallows, quietly thoughtful for a few moments. His lips are pressed together but it’s in a way Harry knows well, when he’s concentrating on something important. “Skating with Harry is, and always will be, an experience, I would start with saying, I think.” Louis begins, grinning now. “But mostly I would just echo everything Harry spent the last ten minutes saying, because he’s right. Every day I skate with Harry is something new, another experience that we share. He always brings something different and whatever he lacks I try and make up for, and vice versa. It’s this strange balance of friendship and a working relationship, of something that you’re both doing, together. And to be here now with gold medals to our name, I don’t think we could’ve seen this in our near future, honestly. It’s amazing, and I’m just glad that I get to experience it with Harry. I don’t think it would feel right with anyone else.”

Louis grips Harry’s knee, eyes downcast onto the table for a moment as Harry exhales, smiling. 

—

The ride back to their room is quiet. And as they walk up the stairs Harry doesn’t say anything, waits for maybe Louis to start talking as he opens the door, the two of them stepping inside. His bed is just how Harry left it, a mess of sheets on top of it as he sits on the end of it, taking out his phone.

There’s a number of missed calls from his mom, a handful of texts from Gemma, and a few other things as he scrolls through, not opening any of the notifications up. Instead he puts his phone down beside him, looking at Louis.

And it’s just them, now. No skating, no medals, nothing. They don’t have to answer any questions or say anything about skating. Harry shifts, crossing his arms across his chest. They’ve got to talk about this and he supposes now is as good a time as any, really.

“I don’t know — what to say,” Louis admits, hands in his lap.

Harry nods. “Not really sure myself,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Louis breaks the next silence between them. “I shouldn’t have been so stupid about all this and I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Harry says truthfully. “I’m sorry that I keep fucking up.”

It’s small, but Louis takes a step toward him. And another. And yet another, Harry watching with his arms at his side, unsure if he should move or not. “We’ve been a little stupid,” Louis says, voice quiet now as he speaks.

Harry feels himself smile, a little. “A little is an understatement, I think,” he comments.

Louis nods, fixing the collar of Harry’s sweater before looking up toward him. This is real, Harry thinks as he brushes a bit of Louis’ fringe from his forehead slowly. “C’mon then,” Louis says, tugging on a string from his sweatshirt, “We’ve got some lost time to make up for.”

Harry leans down, pressing his lips to Louis’ with the full knowledge that he doesn’t need to pull away for any reason except to maybe breathe, but Harry’s gonna try and see how long he can avoid that for. Louis is soft under him, warm and compliant as he pushes Harry back, slowly, so his back is against the mattress now. 

There’s a heat building inside him as Harry brings a hand behind Louis’ neck, thumb running along the skin just below his ear. There’s no rush, nothing they need to worry about them. Just them.

“Is this okay?” Louis asks, pulling away slightly.

“Are you okay with it?” Harry asks in response. Louis nods. “Cause I’m pretty okay with it.”

“We’ve got —” kiss, “this isn’t some small thing, H —” kiss, “this is us kissing for a long time after this,” Louis pulls away so Harry can stop kissing him. Or, trying to kiss him, anyway. “This is us being together in everything.”

A bit of fear runs through Harry, the weight of Louis’ words hitting him. He has Louis here, now, wanting to give this — to give them — a shot, and Harry doesn’t think he’d ever pass that up, not anymore. Or ever, for that matter.

“I think we make a good team,” Harry says slowly, running his thumb gently along Louis’ jawline.

“No more random people back to your room,” Louis starts, “and no more not talking about things.”

“Any other rules?” Harry asks, trying to sound bored. Louis swats at his chest.

“We can kiss. Anytime we want,” Louis says.

“Anytime?” Harry repeats, eyes widening. “I think I can live with that.”

Louis smiles, a warm, small smile as he slowly moves himself to sit on Harry’s lap. “Are you sure?” he asks quietly, threading his fingers through some curls at the nape of Harry’s neck. “This is going to be a sure thing, then.”

A sure thing. The words repeat through Harry’s head as he presses a kiss to Louis’ temple, lips lingering for a moment. “I could handle a few more sure things in my life, I think,” he says.


	2. Epilogue

“Today, I am learning how to spin on the ice.”

Harry looks where Louis is in front of the television presenter, a man by the name of George as he looks up at Louis now, expectant. “Isn’t that right, boys?”

Harry nods, Louis laughing a little as they glide to the centre of the rink. They’ve been home a few months now, a bit of relaxing and a bit of practicing, some interviews, things going at a more normal pace that Harry’s used to.

“Dunno, you did fall pretty hard a few minutes ago…” Louis trails off, grinning as George huffs out a small breath, trying to sound annoyed.

“Think I have my teachers to blame for that,” George says with a wink, and Harry laughs because he can’t help himself, the sound echoing through the arena. 

The cameraman follows the three of them, Harry with his arms wrapped around himself. They’ve taken George around their town, shown them all their favourite spots, the old bakery Harry used to work at, the old Toys R Us Louis had his old job at, all of it. America wants to know, apparently.

“Fair enough,” Louis agrees, but he’s still smiling. 

“Alright, so. How do we start this then?” George asks, glancing between them.

“Pretty much,” Harry starts, clapping his hands together. It’s just like when he used to teach skating to little kids, back on weekends to get him enough money for training. “What you need to do is hold onto Louis, and he’ll do the rest.”

“Is that how you two do it? Louis doing all the work?” George asks.

Louis snorts, Harry shifting one skate with a shrug. “I’ve got dimples, so I can get away with it,” Harry says simply.

“You’re the worst,” Louis comments, holding out his hands. George soon mimics him, looking both anxious and prepared at once.

And then they’re off, so to speak. It’s just a few, short spins but Harry can tell George is out of breath and dizzy when he and Louis finally stop, Harry grinning.

“He’s a natural. What do you say, Lou?” Harry asks.

Louis nods. “Completely agree,” he says, trying to hold back a laugh.

George looks up the camera proudly. “Hear that then? Two Olympic gold medalists called me a natural. Though couldn’t have done it without my fabulous teacher —” he starts, twirling Louis around.

“Alright, alright,” Harry says, moving toward them. He takes ahold of George’s wrist, pulling Louis close to his side. “Too close there, pal.”

Louis smirks, burying his face briefly in Harry’s neck before he puts a hand on his waist. Gentle, but still noticeable.

The interview wraps up, Louis and Harry saying goodbye to George and the rest of the crew before heading home. It’s a little past eleven at night when they finally step into Harry’s small apartment, his entire body sore as he crawls into bed.

“Tired?” Louis asks, running a gentle hand along Harry’s back.

Harry makes a small noise in response, Louis’ hands warm through the fabric of his sweater as he tugs on it, gently. And Harry doesn’t need to be told more than once, moving from where he’s on his back, taking off the sweater as Louis nods, smiling a little. He presses a kiss to the side of Harry’s neck, fingertips trailing along his hips as Harry stops them from bucking up in response. 

“Got a little jealous today?” Louis asks, now carefully undoing Harry’s belt.

“A little,” Harry mutters, kissing Louis instead of saying anything else.

“I liked it,” Louis says. Harry’s cheeks flush as he takes off his pants, slowly.

Louis is next, shirt and pants coming off as Harry mouths along his shoulder, moving so Louis is underneath him, running a gentle hand along the back of his thigh. They’re both exhausted, but Harry can feel how Louis is slow moving, eyes already getting slow when he blinks. 

Louis is on his back now, taking in sharp breaths as Harry kisses him, licking into his mouth as he takes ahold of Louis’ cock. It’s already half hard, but with a few gentle tugs it’s fully hard — a bit of precome leaking out as he hears Louis whine beneath him, gripping at Harry’s curls in response. 

“Like that?” Harry asks. Louis nods, wiggling his hips a bit in response.

Harry smiles, kissing Louis’ lips once more before moving down his neck, his chest — the inside of his thighs before kissing the end of his cock. Louis’ hips buck up in response, not even trying to stop himself as Harry wraps his lips around him. It takes a bit to be able to take Louis fully in his mouth, flattening his tongue as Louis grips at his hair once more.

“Close —” he says, voice quiet.

Harry bobs his head a few more times before Louis comes, hitting the back of his throat. His skin is warm, cheeks flushed and eyes soft as Harry noses along his thighs, a few quick kisses to his chest as he kisses his lips finally.

Louis kisses him back before moving a hand to take hold of Harry’s cock, which takes Harry a bit by surprise as he inhales, sharply. “Jesus, Lou, what the fuck —”

“Gotta go for gold, don’t I?” Louis asks, winking.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](http://loueh.tumblr.com/) if you wanna say hi! i'll probably be somewhere crying about game of thrones.


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